


Up and At 'Em!

by pjobroadwayslut14



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Based on Newsies!: the Musical, Comedy, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gay Newsies, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, References to Addiction, aka monty is 17 and sleeps around which is canon, its not i promise all the tags are for sex jokes plz, sim & percy besties agenda, those tags make it look scary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjobroadwayslut14/pseuds/pjobroadwayslut14
Summary: Percy Newton has spent a large amount of his life as a newsie in New York City. One day, he happens to cross paths with a blue-eyed man named Monty. And if Percy stays up hours after the sun sets thinking about those eyes, nobody has to know.
Relationships: Felicity Montague & Henry "Monty" Montague, Henry "Monty" Montague & Percy Newton, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton, Simmaa "Sim" Aldajah & Percy Newton
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	1. Ain't It A Fine Life?

**Author's Note:**

> oh god hi !! i've had this planned for a while and i'm so excited to finally share it with y'all ! make sure to leave me a comment if you liked it ! if you didn't, rip i guess lmfao
> 
> enjoy !!

**Percy**

I didn’t plan on getting up at five am, especially since Platt brings the papers out at seven. Does it technically count as “getting up” early if you never got any sleep in the first place? It’s hard to fall asleep in our barracks since someone is always up doing something, no matter the time. Most times its Sinjon, up humming whatever song he’s got stuck in his head the second his eyes open in the morning. If you do manage to fall asleep in the first place, the sounds of the city waking up around you will rouse you from your brick-like mattress anyway. Which brings me out here, sitting atop the balcony of the home right as the sun is rising in the sky.

To my knowledge, I’m the first and only one to have discovered it. If you look just past Pascal, our housekeeper’s, desk in the office, you’ll see an iron door half concealed by a bookcase. It’s almost as if it wasn’t meant to be found. Climb through there and you’ll make it out to the balcony. It’s not tiny, but it’s not huge either. And it’s tucked away, out of sight from the rest of the city, including the sidewalk below. It faces east, perfect for watching the sunrise.

I’ve been here the longest out of everyone. As far as I know, there isn’t any kind of age limitation on how old you have to be to be a newsie. Sometimes it seems like the powers to be think ”the younger the better” for this job. Although that thought is sick, I can’t help but be grateful for it. My parents kicked it when I was seven, leaving me to navigate the mean streets of New York City all by myself. My saving grace was The New York World, and mean old Henri Montague’s demand for more kids off the street to do all of the legwork in running his company.

I noticed the door during one of my first weeks here at the home. It was during a meeting with Pascal, one where he showed me the ropes of being a newsboy real briefly before shoving me off to pump papers through the streets like the squeaky new cog of a well-oiled machine. At that point, my parents’ death was still fresh on my mind, and I let myself get all spacey thinkin’ about it. My eyes wandered, then landed on the bookshelf in the corner of the room, in the same place it sits now. 

I’m seventeen now. For the past ten years, I’ve been coming up here whenever it all gets too much. Whether it’s sunrise or sunset, the gold and pink of the sky always does the job of clearing my mind and helping me stay sane enough to lead the others. It doesn’t matter, in the end. Each day is the same. Has been since I showed up here. 

I lift my head when I notice the doorknob behind me start to twist. It’s an old knob, not subtle at all. 

Often I wonder what would happen if Pascal ever knew I came up here. It’s been ten years, and he hasn’t noticed yet. At this point, I don’t think he ever will. 

I move out of the way to make room for the door to open ever so slightly, and Sim slinks through it. With a vague nod in my direction, she kicks the door shut with her foot. I look back into the cotton candy-colored sky as she sits down next to me.

“Brooding again, huh Newton?” she asks. She’s sitting so close to me, I feel her arm shift when she reaches into the pocket of her pants and pulls out a matchbox. She strikes it once, getting a flame on the first try, then holds the match up to the fat cigar in her other hand. The scent of tobacco fills the air and I let my eyes flutter closed, taking in the smell as well as the sound of her breathing next to me. Time really does stop up here. 

“Do you really gotta do that  _ right  _ next to me?” I knock my shoulder with hers, and she barks out a laugh far too enthusiastic for this early in the morning. She takes in a huge drag of the cigar and I’m too slow to move away when she blows the smoke straight in my face. I groan and swat it away as she laughs at me.

Despite the constant teasing, Sim is my best friend in the whole world. Sure, the other guys are up there, but Sim takes the cake, for sure. She showed up at the home a little while after I did. Even at such a young age, Sim didn’t take any of the older kid’s schtick. I wish I could say the same about myself. I sat there and took whatever those schmucks were dealing. While I was quiet and lonely, Sim was a firecracker from the start. Maybe that’s what made her take notice of me. As soon as I started running with her, the others stopped yanking my chain almost immediately. When Sim got added to the equation, I started bringing her up here too. 

She nudges me in the side with her elbow. “Hey Perce, is the sun rising or setting? Can’t even remember, last night was so wild.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Of course, a wild night of eight back-to-back card games with Sinjon? You’ve got me spooked. I barely got a second of shut-eye, y’all were yelling so loud.”

“He was cheating, I swear!” she huffs, then waves her hand through the air, as if she’s erasing the thought like chalk on a chalkboard. “Why are you up this early anyway?”

“I don’t know. I’ve kinda just been thinking.”

“You can think?”

I don’t pay her any mind other than a glare thrown in her direction. “You ever feel like you’ve done everything? How nothing’s ever starting for you?”

“Eh, not really,” she says.

“So you’re tellin’ me you never felt like there’s nothing else out there?” I look at her with a raised brow, and she shrugs, her headscarf shifting at her shoulders.

“Not at all. I’m sure of what’s out there, just waiting for me to chase it.” Sim folds her arms over her knees and looks out to the city in front of her. Maybe she’s seeing all of her thoughts written out in the clouds.

“Oh yeah? Like what.”

“I got a family out there, Perce, I know it. They’re probably out, I don’t know,” she grins and waves her hand through the air, “Sailing the seven seas, wonderin’ what’s taking me so long to catch up with them. Maybe I got a Mama and a Pop,” her eyes blaze as a new idea pops into her head, “Even a brother.”

“You already got a brother. A couple actually. You got me, Georgie, Sinjon-”

“That little weasel is  _ not  _ my brother.”

“Oh, you love him.” She shakes her head with certainty.“You don’t need all that, you got us.”

“Thanks, Perce. I’ll promise you this. When I finally get out of smelly old New York, I’ll take you with me. Deal?” 

“Ain’t everyone wanna come here in the first place?”

“Percy, you telling me you wouldn’t rather have a big life in a quiet town with whatever gorgeous gentleman you’ve found for yourself than such a small life in the biggest city on Earth?” She must take notice of the way I’m chewing my lip, because she finishes with, “Now do I have a deal or not?”

I hesitate for a second before I smile in defeat with a fond eye roll. I bring my hand up to my mouth and hock a glob of spit into my palm. A grin splits across her face as she mirrors me. I hold my hand out between us and she slaps her hand against it. We shake them up and down a few times. The sun is higher up in the sky now, turning the sky from a pinkish gold to a bright blue. The chill that always accompanies summer mornings in the city has been replaced by the sweltering heat. The only mercy Mother Nature is serving up is a rare breeze. 

I pull my hand away and wipe it down my pants a couple of times. I see Sim does the same. I never really loved the whole spit-hand deal thing, but that’s life. 

A bird chirps above us, and I’m suddenly aware of how much time has passed since I first climbed up here. Platt’s probably out setting up right now, wondering if we all fell off the edge of the earth. I’m sure he’d rather that be the case than having to keep dealing with us every day. I lean over the balcony railing and check the window below us, the one in the sleeping quarters. 

When I’m sure it’s open, I clear my throat once. “Hey! Waterfall, Fitzy, my royal highness, King George! Up and at ‘em! And hotfoot it, these papes aren’t gonna sell themselves!” I yell. 

My smile returns as Sim swings the door to Pascal’s office wide open, grinding the end of her cigar on the metal, then stuffing it in her pocket. I take one last look at the sunny New York sky before swinging through the opening and kicking the door closed behind me.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

The moment Sim and I step into the sleeping quarters, Georgie comes running toward me and wraps his arms tight around my legs. Theo strikes up a conversation with Sim from her bunk across the room. Sim steps on my foot as she passes me, and I interpret it as a “good luck” for dealing with Georgie until I can convince him to go shower. Sim nonchalantly sticks the fat, unlit cigar between her teeth as she walks past Sinjon’s bed, where he sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. When he registers the sight, he stands up so fast I worry that he could have knocked his head on the bottom of the bunk above him. He points crazily at her. She stops in her tracks and huffs.

“That is  _ my  _ cigar!” he shrieks, running at her and swatting at the hand holding the cigar. A futile attempt, seeing that Sim has three or four inches on him.

“You’ll steal another!” she teases, holding it above her head so he has to jump for it. Sinjon throws some indecent language her way, so I reach down and clap my hands over Georgie’s ears.

“Come on, you pinheads! We got young ears here, and you know it!” I shout, effectively freezing them in place. They both have a face on like they’ve just been caught red-handed. 

As the one who’s been here the longest, I assumed the most authority over the other guys. Sim is like my second in command, even though she seems to be the one causing the trouble sometimes.

Sinjon scowls and rolls his eyes. Georgie turns his attention away from me at the sound and shrugs away from my hands. He’s always eager to be included with the older bit of us.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Perce. You think he hasn’t heard worse on the streets?” Sinjon says, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. 

“I  _ know  _ he has. Doesn’t mean I like it.” I sandwich Georgie’s face between my hands. “Alright squirt. Go run a bath quick. If you shake a leg, you’ll get the warmest water.” Georgie’s eyes brighten and he slides out of my hold, running off to the bath. Everyone knows that warm water here is a luxury. Knowing this, I usually let everyone who needs to bathe go before me, leaving me with water that feels like it’s coming from a pipe that leads straight to the Arctic. 

Ever since Georgie came to the home, frail and all by himself, I automatically felt that I needed to protect him. I don’t want him to grow up like I did, bullied all the time and alone. I know that none of the guys  _ now  _ would pull that. They know I would knock their teeth in if they tried. All of our teasing is in good fun, like any normal family. 

“You know Perce, if you stopped being such a mother, people would take you more serious,” Sinjon says, stepping into a fresh pair of trousers. 

I roll my eyes at him and lay my clothes for the day out over my bed. “I don’t care about that. I don’t need people to be scared of me, that’s what Helena Robles is for.”

Sinjon shivers dramatically. “She gives me the creeps! Never will you ever catch me steppin’ foot on her terf!”

I finish buttoning my shirt, shrugging on my suspenders. Sinjon, dressed and ready for the work day, walks over to stand before me. “Lookin’ like a real knockout today.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mumble.

Sinjon runs a hand through his hair. “I was talkin’ about myself.”

“Of course you were. You good, Theo?”

“Yup! Just peachy!” She throws me a thumbs up and a sweet wink. Even though she’s not my type, seeing that she’s a  _ she _ and all, Theodosia Fitzroy never fails to melt my heart.

“Perfect. Georgie! You almost done?”

With that, he comes barreling into the room with a shout, fully dressed with soaking wet hair. During the colder months I would be scolding him for it, but I know first hand how hot the summers are here in the city. I’m sure the breeze gets blocked by all those giant skyscrapers. 

“If everyone’s ready, we gotta bounce! There’s work to be done!” 

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

  
  


Platt was certainly not enthusiastic about how late we were. The dog was griping about us the entire time. Kinda stupid of him, seeing that he can’t do his job without us. 

Another day, another story. Kind of. We haven’t had anything but this goddamn trolly strike for weeks! They’re killing us with this snoozer. My parents taught me not to lie, but how else am I supposed to make any money if I can’t sell a single paper pedaling the  _ actual  _ story it holds. 

I’ve sold most of my stack by now. Sim and I have worked the same corner since the very beginning. Nowadays, Georgie tags along so I can make sure he’s not running off with anyone. I hate to say it, but having his mug around here has sold us more than ever. People stop taking pity on you once you lose the pout. Georgie’s a natural too. Better than I was at his age. 

I’ve got one paper left in my hand now. Georgie’s out clean, and so is Sim. This happens sometimes, I try not to worry. Even though the working day is almost over already, there are still some stragglers. It’s not the worst thing in the world to have to throw out just one paper. 

“C’mon Perce, get rid of that one already! I’m gettin’ tired,” Sim complains, slumping down to sit on the sidewalk. Unprompted, Georgie copies her and lays his head on her shoulder.

“Hold on, will you? Look, there’s someone coming right now.” An older gentleman holding a briefcase and a hat comes closer to us. I wave the paper around above my head. “BLOODY FIGHT ON MANHATTAN’S EAST SIDE! TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT, YOU WON’T FIND THIS ANYWHERE ELSE!” 

The man just scowls at me, walking straight past. I drop the paper down to my side and turn my head up to the sky. There must be something in the air today. 

I’m gearing up to just stick the last paper in my pants and start the trek back to the home when a couple of gentlemen walk up to us. The one on the left is tall, with short brown hair and sharp eyes. He pays no attention to me, but the man beside him does. His companion is much shorter than him, contrasting his dark features with lighter, more playful ones. Neither of the two look any older than I am. His eyes are bright blue, like Sinjon’s, but they’re more mischievous than Sinjon’s have ever been. And they peer right into mine. With our eyes locked together, he whispers something to the tall man to his right, then starts toward me. My heart pounds in my chest as he approaches. 

“You got one left?” he says, and I almost melt into a puddle at the way his eyes sweep over me. 

“Y-Yeah. It’s right here. Five cents-“

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes fondly. “Yes, five cents per paper, I know. Here.” He digs around in his pocket for a second, maintaining eye contact. He pulls out a coin, holding it up between his pointer and middle finger. “Have a quarter. You’re too pretty for just a nickel,” he finishes with a wink. 

Before I can respond to  _ that _ , his partner coughs rather loud, which catches both of our attentions. The man looks directly at the blond in front of me, then points at his watch sternly. The man beside me mumbles under his breath, then snaps, “What? You got the plague or some thin’? I’m trying to talk to my friend-“ He turns to me, leaning in to whisper in my ear. He’s completely unphased by it, and I wish I could say the same for myself. “What’s your name?”

I swallow. “Percy. Newton. Percy Newton, that’s my name.”

“Thanks, darling,” he mumbles, then pulls away to face his friend. Well, I’m not sure they’re actually friends from the way they talk to each other. “-My friend Percy! Now hold on!”

He steps away fully and clears his throat. “I’ll see you around, Percy Newton.” He presses the quarter into my palm, letting his fingers brush my wrist as he pulls his hand away. He turns to walk away, but I grab his wrist.

“I never caught your name.”

He grins, and oh my god, he has dimples. I realize now that my only reason for being put on this earth is to make him smile like that again. “It’s Monty.”

“You got a last name?” I ask, trying to match his level of flirtation and failing miserably, my certainly bright red face giving me away. 

His face hardens, then melts so fast you could have missed it. “Take me out sometime, I’ll tell you then.” And with that, Monty rejoins his companion down the road and turns the corner. 

It takes me a good minute to stop seeing stars and notice that he never even took the paper. 

I hear a loud whooping sound from behind me. “ _ Damn _ Percy! You willing to share?”

Without turning around, I notice Sim laughing, then she transforms that laugh into exaggerated kissing noises. With that, I whip around and slap my hand over her mouth. As soon as it smashes against her lips, she bites down on the skin of my palm. I pull my hand away and swear, which only makes her and Sinjon laugh harder. 

“I ain’t  _ willing  _ to do nothing. I just met the guy!”

Sinjon nudges Sim with his elbow. “Give it a week or two, he’ll be writing sonnets. What’s his name anyway?”

I glance over my shoulder at where he turned the corner. “Monty.”

Sim hums. “Last name?”

I blush and look down at my shoes. “He uh- told me to take him out first if I wanted to know that much.”

Sim’s mouth drops open and Sinjon slaps a hand on her shoulder. “You hear that, Simmo? Gentle Giant over here got a date!”

“Fat chance. He was probably just jokin’ around,'' I dismiss, stuffing the folded up newspaper and quarter in the pocket of my pants. “Come on, my royal highness,” I say, picking a tired Georgie off the walk by the hand.

I start walking away, and Sim and Sinjon follow. When he catches up to me, Sinjon laughs, “Percy, are you kidding me? He was undressing you with his eyes that whole time! Undeniable!”

I choke and Georgie squeezes my hand. I look down at him with bugged eyes and he tilts his head. “What does that mean? ‘Undressing you with his eyes’?”

I look Sinjon dead on. “Waterfall, you’re dead. I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.”

Sinjon holds his palms up, mocking me by feigning terror. I roll my eyes and turn onto the lawn of the home. 

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

Seconds after returning home from work, Sinjon challenged Sim to a poker rematch. She accepted with a sly grin, pulling the cigar she stole from sinjon out of her pocket and holding a struck match to it, actively declaring war. 

I half-listened to their banter and trash talk during the first round. Now they’re on their second round, and I’ve blocked them out completely. The same thoughts have been swimming around in my brain since we stepped back through the door.

Is it possible that someone like Monty could ever like  _ me _ ? He said I was pretty. “Too pretty for a nickel,” at least. I’m sure he was just doing some playful flirting, but I can’t help but imagine it being  _ more  _ than that.

Monty is so clearly rich. From the way he talks to the swagger in his step. I talk like all the other kids on the streets, and I walk around like I’d be satisfied if nobody noticed me at all. Not to mention his clothes. Such a contrast from the way I alternate the same four shirts every week. I can’t afford anything else. When we crossed paths, I was wearing my oldest and most ratty shirt and pants. Maybe he thought I looked good besides that.

I better quit while I’m ahead. If I don’t, I definitely won’t be able to focus on Jeanne’s show tonight. Jeanne le Bray is New York City’s most talented performer, even though she’s mostly undiscovered. A real diamond in the rough. It’s a bit of an honor to be her exclusive orchestrator/songwriter. She heard me playing my fiddle outside her hall one day, then brought me in to watch her mother’s show. We were both fifteen then. 

Since then, both of her parents have died, leaving her everything, including their performing hall. It’s tiny and extremely beat up, but it serves its purpose. I write songs for her and her girls to perform. It works out handsomely, in the end. She gets free music, I get to see her show for free whenever I want. 

Even better is the empty apartment upstairs that she offers to me, free of charge. Since she owns the entire building, the rooms above the music hall are fair game. She occupies one. I, and the giant mess of show-props, occupy the other. All of my sheet music stays there, and there are the normal things an apartment should have. Bed, mirror, drawers that I don’t need, the works. 

Most nights I choose to stay at the home. Even though the other guys are a real pain in my side sometimes, I do enjoy their company.

  
  


I’m headed over there tonight. Work has been long and grueling lately, and I haven’t written her anything in a while. It’s easy to get lost in her performances, like a siren song. This time I’m determined to find some sort of inspiration while I’m there. 

I’ve got my old notebook spread open on my lap right now. Thankfully, Sinjon and Sim are having their game on  _ his  _ bed instead of Sim’s, which is right beneath mine. Georgie somehow managed to fall asleep on the edge of my bed, curled up like a cat. Some shut-eye would be nice right now, but there is absolutely no way I’ll be able to between now and the time I leave for Jeanne’s. Sim and Sinjon are loud on their own, but when they’re together it’s all whole ‘nother ballgame. 

Sinjon shrieks particularly loud and I shush him on impulse. I’m real lenient with them, but at some point even I reach the end of my rope. “Would you two please keep it down? I’m tryna focus.”

Sinjon crosses his arms over his chest. “Not my fault you decided it would be a good idea to write those songs of yours in the middle of our game.”

I sigh and scrub a hand over my face. Sim smacks him upside the head and gestures to me. “Look what you did, ya pinhead! You made Percy mad!”

“Oh,  _ I _ made Percy mad? Seems like  _ you’re  _ the one who kept-“

“I’m not mad!” I say, and both of them snap their mouths shut. “I’m just asking you to stop screaming your heads off. I’ve gotta go to Jeanne’s in a bit, and I wanna get some work done before then. Capiche?”

Sinjon brings his hand up to his forehead, then salutes me. “Aye-aye, captain.” He gathers all of the cards off the bed, to which Sim makes a noise like she’s been punched. They could have at least finished the round. Oh well. 

Sim snaps back quick and looks at me. “You’ve been working on that for a while now. What’s got you so distracted,” she prods, to which Sinjon’s face splits into a wide grin.

“More like  _ who’s  _ got him so distracted.”

I roll my eyes and flop back onto the bed. The cracked ceiling is staring at me, and I glare back. “When are y’all gonna give that up already? I talked to the guy once, it’s not like it’s anything special.” I turn my head to look down at them.

Sinjon strokes his chin mockingly. “Hm, I see, I see. Ah!” He points one finger up to the sky. “But you _want_ it to be.” He brings the finger down to point in my direction on the last line.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh yeah? Who said.”

“What color are his eyes?” 

Without missing a beat, I say, “Blue. But not really like the  _ sky _ , more like ocean blue, ya know?”

Sim laughs and Sinjon does a fake bow. I realize how quickly I answered and I groan. 

“I rest my case,” he says. “Just admit it. You wanna stick your tongue down his throat, don’t ya?”

In my shock, I sit up so fast I end up whacking my forehead on the ceiling. A lick of dust falls down, to which Sinjon sucks in air through his teeth. I swear, loud, then check to see if Georgie’s still asleep. He shuffles in his sleep and I rub my forehead. “ _ Don’t say it like that!” _

Sim lets out a laugh. “So you  _ do  _ want to!” she barks.

I climb down from my bunk, careful not to disturb Georgie in his sleep. Once my feet are safely on the floor, I give both of them an unsavory hand gesture. Sim pretends to be scandalized, slapping a hand over her heart and gasping. I shake my head at the unnecessary show these two put on, grabbing my nicest shirt and pants from the drawer. 

“Dressing up, huh?” Sim asks.

I know what she’s trying to get at, but I don’t bite at the bait she’s holding down. “I’m going to the theatre, I gotta blend in.”

Thankfully, she gives up and sprawls out on her bed. Sinjon stands up as I reach down to grab my fiddle from under on top of the drawers. When I straighten, he’s standing way too close to me. He claps a hand on my shoulder and grins. “At least use protection.”

My face goes bright red and I sputter as they both laugh at me. I flip them the bird one last time before slipping on my shoes, tucking my fiddle case and songbook under my arm, and walking out the door.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°


	2. I Never Planned On Someone Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all ! make sure to leave a comment and kudos and stuff
> 
> tw in the end notes
> 
> enjoy !!

**Monty**

  
  


I told Richard he didn’t have to walk me home, swear it. The bastard took until we got to the entrance of my house to fuck off. I’d been aiming to slip out as soon as we woke up, on opposite sides of the bed of course. But just as I was about to slide out of bed, he rolled over and started kissing down my neck, biting far too hard to be comfortable. I eventually convinced him that I had plans and that I couldn’t stay any longer, but at that point, it was already four in the afternoon.

Maybe if he’d actually listened to me for once, I would’ve been able to run into that newsie by myself. No no, not “that newsie,” Percy. His name is Percy. I’ve seen him around once or twice, but I’d never taken the route I did with Richard before today. I haven’t been able to shake him from my mind since the moment we locked eyes.

Percy is much taller than I am. There is such a stark difference in our heights that I had to jump up on the tips of my toes to whisper in his ear. And his eyes, oh my god. Dark brown, so dark they almost looked black.

He caught my attention by screaming his head off about some certainly fake story in the paper he was trying to sell. He was facing away from me, which granted me a full view of his beautiful curly brown hair. Before he turned around, I spent a second or two admiring the curls. When Richard noticed me staring, he nudged me hard in the same spot my father hit me just yesterday.

Thankfully, my flinch was concealed when Percy turned around to look at me. I think I’ll remember that image for the rest of my life. 

A bird chirps by my front door, loud enough to snap out of my daydream just enough to make it up the front steps. 

I take a deep breath, one that sends a shot of pain down to my ribs. I swing the door open to one of the servants directly on the other side. He has a basket of laundry set on his hip. He nods and gives me a quiet “hello” before shuffling into one of the many rooms off the main foyer. 

My father’s study sits menacingly in the corner of my eye. The only thing worse than having a father who beats the everloving shit out of you is having a father than not only beats the everloving shit out of you, but then proceeds to pretend it never happened. Which is exactly why I always try to tip-toe my way past his office and up the stairs as quick as possible.

He knocked me around quite a bit yesterday, which served as the only reason I decided to pay Richard Peele a nice visit. And why I downed a whole bottle beforehand.

I do end up making it past the office this time, but once I’m halfway up the stairs and already tasting victory, the sound of a throat clearing rings through the otherwise silent house. I stop dead in my tracks, hand still on the railing, and hesitate before turning around. When I do, my father is standing in the doorway to his study with a scowl on his face. No question where Felicity gets it from. 

“Come down here, Henry,” he says. His accent isn’t in full swing, so at least he’s not fuming _ yet _ .

I close my eyes for just a second to compose myself, then trudge down the stairs and into his office.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

  
  


“I’m sure that you are aware that as my son, you’re the rightful heir to the company, correct?”

“Yes sir,” I mumble, keeping my eyes down at the carpet. I’ve found after years and years of meetings and confrontations with my father that it’s easier to keep your cool if you keep your eyes down.

My father slams his hand on the table, and I look up at him. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

I nod and turn my gaze forward. “Yes sir.”

“And as my heir, you will need to know what it  _ takes  _ to run an empire as large as mine. I called you in here so that I can evaluate you on your problem-solving.”

“What’s the problem?” I say.

“Our bottom line has plummeted over the past weeks. I’d like to hear your suggestions on how to fix that,” he says, eyes boring into mine.”

I wave my hand through the air vaguely. “Maybe we could try to cut back on the amount of workers we have to pedal the papers. Less workers, less people we have to pay. Or a salary trim?”

My father’s eyes set ablaze and I brace myself. When his hand slaps against the skin of my cheek, sharp pain flares through it. When he pulls back, I dig my fingernails into my palms to resist bringing a hand up to rub at it.

“Have I taught you  _ nothing? _ ” he shouts.

I bite my lip and bring my eyes back up to his. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry won’t fix anything. What you need to do is  _ listen  _ when I’m speaking to you. That’s the only way you’ll learn. You haven’t done a single thing with your life. When I was your age, I was already living on my own, away from my father with a business of my own. Instead, you spend your time cruising instead of doing anything meaningful. You are a stain on this family. If you listen to what I teach you, you can try to redeem yourself.”

I swallow deeply and try not to let the words sink through my skin just yet. “What would the proper solution be then, sir?”

“Any of yours would have done nothing but bankrupt me even faster. What needs to be done is a price increase. Instead of fifty, the newsboys will be charged sixty cents per hundred papers. Understood?”

Percy’s face flashes in my mind and before I can stop myself, I blurt, “But that’ll kill them!”

My father leans down and gets right up in my face. On reflex, I lean away from him, but he grabs my chin in one hand and squeezes hard. “I did not  _ ask  _ what you thought. If it does kill them, we’ll replace them. To think like a man is to think of yourself. Do you understand me?”

My eyes shift sideways and he jerks my face back forward. “ _ Understood, Henry?” _ he hisses.

“Yes sir, I understand.”

He stands back and walks around to the other side of his desk. I watch as he sits down in his chair and folds his hands in front of himself. “Very well. Now leave.”

The moment he says so, I stand up from my own chair and stumble over to the door. Without a look back, I open it and run out, then up the stairs. I throw open the door to my bedroom with hot tears stinging my eyes. My legs give out from under me and I throw myself down onto my bed. The tears roll down my burning cheek and I roughly wipe them away with the sleeve of my shirt. I finally let his words slice into my skin.

_ Disappoint. _

_ A stain on this family. _

Anger consuming me, I swipe all of the papers off the desk beside my bed, then throw a hand over my face. I rub it down, scrubbing most of the wetness off of my damp cheeks. I turn my face to the side and my eyes catch on an unopened bottle of whiskey beside the bedpost. Without any hesitation I reach down and pick it up, knocking off the cap and taking a few gulps of it. It burns on the way down, but I don’t care.

I bring it away from my mouth when I can’t resist the hysteric gasping breaths that were fighting to get out. 

It’s like a ritual, in a way. Father calls me down to his office, knocks me around some, I come up to my room and get hammered. The alcohol helps, but it never cures anything completely. It’s a temporary solution to a permanent problem. The burning in my throat distracts from the aching in my ribs, and the stinging of my cheek. I let out another gasp, and then slap a hand over my mouth so that none of the servants decide to stick their heads in. 

They’ve learned many,  _ many _ times that if they hear any sort of questionable sounds coming from my room, they should just keep walking.

I throw the bottle down on the bed next to me. Any other time, I would have downed the entire thing all at once, but I actually have somewhere to be tonight. I don’t have anyone accompanying me, so I’m planning on finishing the job once I get there. If I finish the bottle now, I won’t be able to see straight enough to get dressed and make it to the theatre without getting hit by a car.

I have to go to the theatre to see Jeanne tonight. She used to serve as just a hookup and nothing more, until very recently, where she’s been a friend. Never have I ever had someone rather talk to me than touch me. She offers me free passage into her shows every once in a while, which is always nice.

As much as I want to, I can’t just skip out on tonight. If I do, my sister might kill me. Felicity isn’t a social person in the slightest, which is why she sends  _ me  _ out to do interviews and such. Tonight I’m being used to review Jeanne’s show for her.

Our father  _ offered _ her a life of leisure and luxury. Most ladies nowadays would have taken it without hesitation, but Felicity decided that she wanted an occupation instead. Father refused to give her a spot in his newspaper, The World, claiming that “a lady should know her place.” Thankfully for Felicity, her childhood friend, Johanna’s, father runs The Sun. Felicity was offered a post in the social pages, reviewing shows and interviewing people in the public eye. 

Well,  _ I’m  _ technically the one doing the interviews.

My hand comes back up to rest on my cheek, the coolness of it soothing the pain. I let my eyes flutter closed and settle down on my bed, face to the ceiling. I rub at my cheek, and before I even know it, I’m asleep.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

  
  


Hours later, I arrive at Jeanne’s performing hall after a long and excruciatingly silent car ride. Her building is far from my house in one of the poorer areas of the city. 

Sinclair opens my car door, and I offer a tip of my hat as thanks. The bouncing music and laughter bleeds out the windows and onto the sidewalk. My lips curl up at the edges as I walk up to the door.

When I enter, the seats are already nearly full. I walk straight through the ticket booth, eyes set on the sold out theatre before me. Young women sit clumped together, gossiping about whatever’s been happening in their circles. Men in fancy suits crowd around the bar, some breaking off to flirt with the girls. With a quick look over my shoulder, I take off my hat and step closer to the bar. Once I have my drink, I find an empty seat off to the side of the stage right as the lights begin to dim.

In an obnoxious voice, an announcer with a huge handlebar mustache bangs his cane on the floor of the stage. Everyone looks over, and the orchestra starts to play. I settle back in my seat and take a sip of my drink.

“Ladies and Gentleman, introducing the star of our show, Miss Jeanne le Bray!”

Jeanne steps onto the stage to the raucous applause of the entire audience. She’s wearing her best dress, one with a deep magenta color, adorned with crystals of all sizes and shapes. It’s low cut, and extremely flattering on her. There’s a huge purple feather headdress atop her head, swaying back and forth as she looks to her adoring fans. 

The orchestra starts back up, and Jeanne bats her eyelashes innocently to the crowd. The music climbs and she opens her arms to start singing. The song she’s singing tonight is raunchy, one about diamonds as big as sinks, gold mines, and whatever guy she can’t have. 

Near the end of the song, she pauses and points to the upper boxes for a teasing remark. I follow her finger, and sure enough, sitting in that box is a laughing, red-faced Percy. She finishes her song, but the entire time I can’t seem to take my eyes away from Percy. Every so often, he’ll scribble something down in a book resting on his lap. Sometimes, he’ll mouth the lyrics to the song as Jeanne sings them, eyes fixed on the book.

My eyes feel like they’re bugging out of my head while I watch him, and I set my drink aside without finishing it. A waiter comes by and picks it up, but I couldn’t care less if I tried. When the song finishes, Jeanne is rewarded with a standing ovation. I go along with the crowd without a second thought. Percy whoops significantly loud from his box upstairs and continues to clap. Jeanne smiles, then blows it a big kiss to the audience before walking off stage.

The crowd falls back into the same buzz from earlier, and I all but run backstage to meet Jeanne. We lock eyes from across the room, and she bounces over to me. There’s a thin layer of sweat built up over her thick makeup, but it just seems to make her glow even more. 

I point vaguely upward. Her eyes follow, then snap back to mine. “There’s uh- there’s someone up in one of the top floor boxes.”

She nods. “I noticed you staring at him.”

“Yeah I,” I run a hand through my hair, “How did- Who is-“

She cuts me off with a fond eye roll. “Why don’t you go find out,” she nudges, then walks off to her dressing room. 

I stand there like a fool for a hot minute, eyes wide. A chorus of girls starts singing on the stage, and my eyes flit back to Percy. There’s a sweet smile on his face as he watches the performance. I don’t waste a second more before hot-footing it toward the stairs.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

  
  


I take a moment to catch my breath when I finally reach his box. I put a hand on the edge of the curtain, but I can’t seem to move it back. Someone in the next box over laughs, loudly. I set an easy smile on my face and pull the curtain back.

“Twice in one day! Think it’s fate?” I say, pulling the curtain behind me closed and leaning against the wall. 

Without looking up from his book, Percy says, “This is a private box, I can’t have-“ 

Realization passes over him, and he carefully looks up at me. I smirk at his wide eyes.

I tilt my head and twinkle my fingers at him. Percy smiles for just a moment, letting his guard fall before resuming his poker-faced expression. “Hi, Monty.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Hello, darling. What might you be doing here on this fine night?”

He looks down at the stage, then scribbles something down in his notebook. “Working,” he murmurs, not looking up.

“You know, I’m supposed to be working too.” He continues scratching away at the page. “Would you look up at me for a second?”

His eyes fall closed as he huffs, shutting the book and folding his arms over it. He looks at me aggravatedly. My heart jumps over the tension. I stare at him for a moment, but I snap out of it when he opens the book again with a shake of his head.

I roll my eyes and sit in the chair next to his. “Didn’t know you worked here. I’ve never seen you around.”

He shrugs, eyes flitting to mine. “I’m not on the staff or nothing. I write some songs, that’s it.”

I rest my elbow on my knee, my gaze unwavering. “Is that why you were mouthing the words earlier?”

The hand with the pen stops moving abruptly. A blush springs up on his cheeks and he smirks. “Were- were you watchin’ me?”

It’s my turn to blush. My ears burn, but I tuck my hair behind them and play it off. “Of course, how could I not?”

His blush intensifies and he bites his bottom lip to stop his grin from doing the same. “That’s uh- never heard that one before.”

I shrug and sit back in my seat, extremely proud of myself. “Yeah, well. Your turn. Aren’t you gonna ask what I do for work here?”

He drums the pen on his paper. “Did you want me to?”

“I mean, I kind of expected it, but-“

He turns his full attention to me and smirks. “Alright hotshot, what’re you doin’ here?”

I put my hand on my chest, which makes him giggle. The laugh twinkles like bells, and evaporates into the air. The only light is pointing at Jeanne’s dancers on stage. It’s too dark to get a clear look at Percy’s face, yet I can still make it out well enough to watch him smile. “Well I’m glad you asked. I’m just taking notes for my sister, reviewing the show and such.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You work for the papers?”

I wave my hand dismissively. “You could say that. I don’t do too much, though. My sister Felicity works for The Sun.”

He nods, studying my face for a moment. His gaze is intense, and just before I can think to do something stupid and ruin this, he looks back down to his book and scratches a few more things down. “Yeah, I see.”

We fall into a comfortable silence for a second or two. I could live in that silence for the rest of my life, watching the way his hand flicks the pen back and forth, and how his tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth. It’s like he has all these ideas up in his head, and he’s trying to match the speed of his hand with the speed he comes up with them. 

I’ve never felt this utterly  _ enamored _ but anyone I’ve ever flirted with. Not only his looks. His heartstopping accent too. I’ve never considered street slang to be all that attractive, but it sounds good on Percy.  _ Really _ good. And he’s sweet. Shy and clever. I want to break him out of that shell, but I’m sure it’ll take longer than two conversations. The newsies are always hesitant around the higher class. 

I haven’t even  _ done  _ anything with him, which is what makes it so shocking. I tend to get around quite a bit, to my father’s dismay. I think it adds to the fun, knowing I’m making him angry. Whoever I end up in bed with realizes that there isn’t anything real going on. This feels different, though.

My heart beats out of my chest when we lock eyes. Everything about him just pulls me closer and closer. 

The other day, he was cute. Just a quick flirt to step on Richard’s toes. But now, in this low light, surrounded by a full theatre of people, he’s looking seriously beautiful.

I open my mouth to tell him so, but an applause starts ringing through the theatre. Percy and I look toward the stage in unison. Jeanne’s dancers take a bow, then run off stage. The audience continues to clap for a minute before starting to gather their things. 

“That’s my cue,” Percy says, looking me in the eyes with an easy grin and a shrug. He stands up to leave, picking up an instrument case from at his feet. 

I stand up abruptly and the smile on his face becomes questioning. “Wait! When can I see you again?”

He runs a hand through his curls. I so badly wish I was the one doing it for him. “I work on the same corner every day.”

I raise an eyebrow and he sighs. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows in a way that clearly wasn’t meant to be seductive but  _ definitely is. _ Ripping a sheet out of his notebook, he sets it down on one of the side tables. I lean over his shoulder with crossed arms to get a better peek at what he’s doing. With a few crooked lines, he makes me a real messy map of the street he works on, complete with a messy silhouette of him standing on the corner. He even bothered to draw a cute little mess of curls on it, just so I know it’s him. 

I resist a lovesick sigh as he straightens. Our faces are  _ far _ too close for comfort, noses about half a foot apart. My eyes widen. He must notice, because he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and looks down bashfully. Eyes still turned downward, he hands me the sheet of paper. He pivots on his heel to try to leave after I take the paper, but I stop him with fingers gently curled around his wrist.

Percy turns around and looks at my hand on his, which makes his eyes bug out of his skull. He takes a second to recover before he locks eyes with me again.

“Goodbye, Percy.”

His shocked expression melts and he pulls his hand out of my grasp, only to twine our fingers together. “I’ll uh- I’ll see you around.” 

He lets go, grabbing his book off the table and pulling back the curtain to leave without a look back.

Once I’m sure he’s gone, I hug the map to my chest. It may be stupid, but this crumpled piece of paper feels like hope. Like a beacon in the dark. He wants to see me again, which tells me that my efforts haven’t been completely unsuccessful.  _ He wants to see me again. _

I pull the sheet away to rest it in my lap and trace his pen lines with the tip of my finger. After a few seconds of wistful tracing, I sigh and pick it up to leave. The light of the stage makes the paper more see-through, and without thinking, I flip it over. The second I recognize what it says, I choke on the air. 

On it, in neat handwriting, is a poem.

_ A man across the street _

_ With eyes blue like the sea _

_ Can’t help but think _

_ “Love it when you look at me.” _

Without even willing it to, my hand comes up to cover my awestruck grin. I reread the letter again and I have to start biting my lip to keep myself from looking any more ridiculous.  _ “Love it when you look at me.”  _ I shake my head and scoff at the cheesiness of it. I read it one last time, committing each line to memory. The theatre is empty now and if Jeanne catches me up here past closing, she’ll kick my ass for sure. I pick up my belongings and walk out of the box with a bounce in my step.

Seems now that my little crush on him is no longer as little as it was this afternoon.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

  
  


The drive home from the theatre is just as silent as it was on the way there. This time, I don’t care. I’ve got far too many thoughts to keep me occupied. Sinclair always tries to get around talking to me. The funniest thing about it is that he thinks I don’t  _ know  _ that he does it on purpose.

The first hour or so after my arrival at the house is spent doing absolutely nothing but yearn. Yearning to look in his eyes, to feel his hands on my skin, his lips on mine.

After quite a while, I finally remember the reason why I was sent to the show in the first place. Well, other than fate and all that. 

Felicity’s door is closed when I walk over to it. As if through some sort of psychic connection, the door swings open just as I raise my hand to knock on it. Her hair is tied up in a messy knot, some pieces falling down over her nightgown. 

She shoves me out of the doorway without warning, sticking her head out into the hallway. She narrows her eyes, looking both ways, before setting them on me and yanking me into the room. With the door closed behind us, she walks back over to her desk and sits down. 

“Did you do what I asked?” 

I roll my eyes while walking to her desk and throwing down my notes from the show. “You sound like some sort of mob boss. Yes, I did.”

She pushes her wiry glasses up to rest on the bridge of her nose and picks up the paper. She examines it for a moment, then looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “This is not what I asked you for.”

My heart drops and I peer over her shoulder. My suspicions are proven correct as my eyes fall on Percy’s poem. I throw my hand out to take the paper from her, but she swipes it away. 

“Monty, what did-“

I shoot around to her other side for the sheet, but she just switches it in her hands, making me jump around like a fool. “Be careful with that!” I scream-whisper.

She turns it over again and sees the map. When she looks it over, she lets out a quiet laugh. I don’t doubt that it would have been much louder if it weren’t so late, and if we didn’t have to sneak around Father like this. “What is it?” she asks.

I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face and contorting it in the process. “It doesn’t matter to you, now give it back or I’ll scream.”

She reads over the poem again, not paying my threat any attention. “If it impedes your ability to do your job,” she looks at me over the top of the paper, “It does matter to me.”

“Oh please.” Her gaze is unwavering, and I can’t bear the intensity of it. “Fine. The boy I’ve been spending time with made it for me. Now give it back.”

She reluctantly holds out the paper, and I snatch it away, tucking it into my coat pocket. “Who? The Peele boy?”

“No his-“ I shake my head, “His name is Percy.”

“I don’t know a Percy. Last name?”

I roll my eyes and sit down on her bed. “Why am I even telling you this?”

“Because you were stupid enough to bring the wrong paper.” She folds her hands in her lap.

“Percy Newton. He’s actually,” a blush spreads over my face, “He’s one of the newsies.”

Felicity’s mouth drops open, and her eyes bug out of her head. When she realizes this, she shakes her head and resumes her bored expression.

“Father will be livid,” she says, flipping through a stack of papers on her desk. 

“When have you ever cared about what he thinks of me?”

Her hands stop and she sighs. “Did you take  _ any  _ notes at the performance?”

I look away from her. This is our usual routine. One of us says or asks something that cuts a little too deep, then we ignore it. It’s not a fun game to play. “Yeah, I have it right here.” I pull another sheet of paper out of my pocket and hand it to her.

She takes it, not meeting my eyes. I watch her scan the sheet. A scowl screws up her face. “Monty, I gave you  _ one  _ job. You wrote three bullet points!”

I shrug, standing up from the bed and wiping my hands off on my pants. “Oh well. Goodnight dearest sister.” 

She runs a hand back and forth across her forehead, as if she is already nursing a headache. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was. “Don’t slam the door on your way out.”

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings:
> 
> child abuse  
> references to alcoholism


	3. The World Will Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi next chapter is angsty so enjoy this lmfao
> 
> make sure to comment if u liked it!!

**Percy**

I should’ve known better. I swear, I was planning on leaving Jeanne’s early. Maybe then I wouldn’t have slept through the morning, and everyone else wouldn’t have left without me. But no, I decided that it would be a  _ great  _ idea to stay right up until the end.

The last person on Earth that I expected to see last night was Monty. Hell, I tried going to the theatre to get him  _ off _ my mind, not make everything worse! But he kept smiling and laughing and I couldn’t find it in myself to get up and leave. 

We’re on borrowed time. In cases like these, you take what you can get. 

He’s not like me, I’m sure of it. He’s rich, and I bet you he’s out right now having a cup of coffee with whatever fine lady he’s paired up with. 

I gotta stop daydreaming like this. Making up little stories about his eyes, or running out West some day. That’s all they are, dreams. They’ll stay with my pillow, in snores, in my songbook.

I glance up at the clock on the wall. I can still make it to the circulation desk if I really get a move on. After one final stretch, I stumble down the bunk ladder and throw open my drawer. Only one clean shirt left. I really gotta wash clothes this weekend. I know for a fact that Sinjon’s been wearing the same pants all week, and I’m  _ sure _ that he thinks nobody notices. 

I throw on my pants from yesterday and the clean shirt. It’s hot out today, I can tell. The windows in the home are almost always open seeing that our single fan does absolutely nothing to keep us from dying of heat. With that knowledge in mind, I roll up my shirt sleeves and unbutton the first button on it. Putting on a vest today would be murder. I pull my news bag and songbook out from where they’re hidden under the drawer. 

When I pick up the songbook, a page falls out. Blank, thank god. I flip open the book to stick it back between the pages, but mid-flip my entire body freezes.

I made Monty a little map yesterday. On a clean page. So where, the fuck, is my poem? I let out a shaky breath and flip through the entire book, inspecting every page, but there’s nothing. 

God, my luck really has run out. Waking up late,  _ accidentally giving the poem where I exposed myself as a criminal to the boy I wrote it about _ , no clean shirts. I’m gonna use one of these too blank pages to write a real strongly worded letter to Lady Luck, just watch. 

I take one deep breath and steel myself. The familiar smell of sweat and the wood of the bunks runs through me. I open my eyes to the late morning sun beating through my window, revealing all the dust in the air and painting golden lines all over the wall. My breathing slows just enough for the world to stop spinning. I shake my head and snap the book closed. Tossing it in my messenger bag, I grab my hat off the bedpost and jog over to the front door.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

  
  


The first thing I see when I turn the corner by the circulation desk is Sinjon screaming at Platt. Which is… never a good sign. I stop in my tracks to survey the situation. Sim’s off to the side with her head in her hands. Theo’s beside her on the bench with a hand on her shoulder. Sinjon’s waving his hands around like a madman, still screaming his head off. I rush forward and pull him away from Platt’s stand. I glance at Platt apologetically, but my sympathy fades as soon as I see his stupid grin. 

“They- They jacked the prices Perce!” Sinjon pants, then points in Platt’s face. “You, and your tiny little di-“

I pull him away with my hands on his shoulders. He’s shaking with rage. “Sinjon, slow down. What is going on?”

He gestures to the stack of unsold newspapers. “They upped the price!”

I shake my head, then dig around in my pocket for some coins. They can’t just  _ change  _ the price, right? It hasn’t happened once since I got here. I turn to Platt. “I’ll have a hundred, please,” I ask, holding out fifty cents.

“Sorry, it’s sixty per hundred, kid.” Platt’s words are apologetic, but his expression is anything but. 

I scoff, then stuff my coins back into my pants pockets. Sure that this isn’t some trick, Sinjon throws his hands up in the air and starts babbling. 

Sixty per hundred? How are we going to manage this? These past couple weeks have been tough on their own. With the price increase it’ll only get rougher. God, how are we gonna afford food? We’ve had to skip out on meals before, but times like those are rare. 

Sinjon stomps over to the bench. I throw Platt one more glare before following him. Theo looks up at me miserably, Sim following suit after raising her head from her hands. 

Sinjon plops down next to where Georgie is sitting and counting a few coins in his hand. He counts them all, then starts over. I notice a gloss over his eyes, and when he sees that I’m staring at him, he wipes at them frantically. Sinjon, in an act of sincerity reserved only for the most desperate of situations, rubs a hand up and down Georgie’s back. 

“Alright everyone, don’t get your knickers in a twist. It’s probably just a mistake or something,” I say.

“It’s not! Montague put it in action this morning!” Platt yells from the desk, turning to his friend with a laugh. 

Theo stands up from her spot abruptly, pushing up her sleeves and tying her curly hair back. “Why I outta-“ she starts, walking toward the desk, but Sim pulls her back. Theo deflates, then slumps back down.

“What are we gonna do, Percy? I don’t have enough!” Georgie cries, holding out his handful of coins with tears rolling down his cheeks. This kid has been through too much to cry over  _ this.  _ Now I  _ gotta  _ fix it.

“It’s alright, Georgie. Just give me a second to think.” I chew my thumbnail between my teeth. What  _ can  _ we do about this? Give in? If we go down that road, we’ll starve in no time. We can’t challenge them, that would be a death sentence in itself. There’s no good solution. 

Sinjon rolls his eyes at me and I drop my hand away from my face. “Alright, Perce, I love ya. We all do. But I’m getting antsy, and I would like to know whether I’m gonna be sleepin’ on the street tonight.”

Georgie slaps him across the back of the head, and all of our eyes widen. I believe I hear a gasp too, behind Sinjon’s yelp. “Let the man think!” he yells, and Sinjon rubs at his head. I’ve never tried  _ that  _ method of shutting him up.

“Apologize,” I say, halfheartedly. There are other things to worry about at the moment.

About ten seconds later, Georgie crawls over to set a hand on my shoulder. “You still thinkin’?”

Sinjon barks out a laugh. “Don’t speak! You’re gonna confuse him, then he’s gonna have to start all over.” The rest of the group reprimands him, and he slumps back down in his seat after seeing Georgie’s raised hand, ready to strike again.

Suddenly, Sim gasps and jumps in front of us. All of our heads snap up in unison. “Wait a second. We’re all they got, right?” she says.

I look around to everyone, and they nod.

Sim gestures for them to think on it. “So what would they do without us?”

“Keel over, probably,” Sinjon adds.

Sim snaps in the air. “Right! So what if we just… don’t sell. Leave them with no one.”

Theo furrows her brow. “Like a strike?”

Sim smiles excitedly. “Exactly! Like a strike!”

I stand up next to Sim and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey. Cool it. We ain’t gonna put on a strike.”

“Why not?” Sim asks.

I gesture to the air. “You see what’s happening to those trolley workers? They’re getting their asses kicked, and with nothing to show for it.”

“But they’re also shutting  _ down  _ the trolleys! They’re changing the game! And people  _ know  _ it. Besides, you think the cops are gonna go after a bunch of kids?” 

Theo turns her eyes downward and her smile drops. She knows exactly what the cops are willing to do, no matter your age. I know too, from personal experience.

The New York City Refuge is one of the nastiest places you’ll ever see. It’s hell on Earth for everyone in the streets. Theo knows, that’s where I met her. I got thrown in there early on after stealing some clothes for Sim and I. It’s grimy and dusty, and they don’t give you nearly enough food. Just enough to make sure you don’t kick it under their care. By the time I was caught, I had already made a home for myself with the newsies, at least with Sim.

I saw myself in Theo, and when I finally got out, I took her with me. That was a year or so before Sim, Theo, and I found Sinjon huddled under a set of stairs on our corner and took him in.

Every single one of us knows what the cops are capable of. Sim‘s definitely just trying to keep morale up. “No, Sim. We can’t strike. No way. We ain’t even got a union like those trolley workers.”

Sinjon gestures to everyone. “Then... we’ll make one! There, easy. We got a union!”

I set my hands on my hips. “What about officers? We gotta have a president and all that.”

Sinjon licks his lips, looking around in thought, then slaps his hands on his thighs and stands up. “I,” he starts, drawing it out until his eyes land on Sim, “Nominate Sim president!”

Theo, Georgie, and Sim herself all start to clap politely like the show they were watching just finished. I wave my hands for them to stop and they do so reluctantly.

I’m starting to lose them to Sim’s plan, so I shrug and say, “How do you know the membership even wants to strike, huh?”

Sinjon arches an eyebrow. Eyes locked on mine, he says, “Raise your hand if you wanna strike.” With that, everyone, including him, raises their hand in unison. I scoff, then turn my head skyward. 

I’ve already made my stance. I can’t change it now, right? I hate to admit it, but Sim is right, we’re all they got. If we tell the other guys at the home about this, I’m sure they’ll be just as into this idea.

I’m just worried about the cops coming for us. It’s my job to keep everyone in line, but I suppose that if they really care, if they really want this, they’ll fight. I know they’ve got it in them. I’ve seen it in all the late night poker games, the teasing, the whispered conversations past curfew. We might actually pull this off, if we work together.

“Strikers gotta have a reason to strike. What’s ours?” I ask. 

Sinjon grins. He must pick up on the fact that I’m starting to crack. “We want our prices back. Fair, like the old ones. What’s that one “w” word?”

Sim tilts her head. “Wages?”

Sinjon snaps. “Yeah! That. Wages, we want fair wages, just like the trolley workers!”

“Alright, then how we gonna let ‘em know? Someone in charge has gotta find out,” I say. I can’t help but be more than a little on board with this plan now that it’s starting to take shape.

Sinjon takes his hat off, holding it to his heart. “Why it would be my pleasure to tell Platt myself!” he yells, loud enough for Platt to look over and scoff. “Who’s gonna take Montague?”

Everyone looks at me. I sigh, then reach up and pluck my hat off my head. I wipe at my sweaty forehead before flipping it back on. “I suppose that’ll be you, Miss President.” I say, gesturing to Sim.

The whole crew celebrates, knocking shoulders and laughing. Sim laughs, slapping her hands on my shoulders. “You and me. We’re in this together. We’ll tell them all that we won’t stand for this. That we deserve rights, and that we shouldn’t just be treated like pawns. They’re gonna  _ know _ .”

A stupid smile stretches across my lips and I pull away from her to turn to everyone else. “We got a union!” I laugh. 

Sim knocks her shoulder with mine. On the bench, Sinjon laughs and sets a hand on top of Georgie’s head, giving it a gentle shake. Sinjon’s brotherly affection for Georgie is shown at times few and far between, so it’s mighty refreshing right now. Theo claps her hands together and jumps up and down in her seat with excitement.

“So! They’re gonna try and convince us we’re doin’ wrong, but we’re not. Right?” I shout.

They all nod. “Right!”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Sim yells. 

“Alright union-ed newsies of lower Manhattan, how’s about for our first day on strike, we pay a little visit to the deli,” I say.

Everyone agrees, standing up from their seats. They’re all pretty riled up, myself included, so we take a second to steel ourselves. I feel like I could run a marathon, but that’s not exactly appropriate behavior for a deli. Georgie jumps up next to me and slides his hand into mine, the other in Sim’s. We swing him back and forth a couple of times, to which he giggles.

“Alright, let’s blow this popsicle stand, huh?”

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

  
  


Once we arrive at the deli, to Jacobi’s dismay, we all sit down at the tables near the window. He hates when we come by, says we’re “taking up space for paying customers.” I slide into a booth near the wall as Jacobi stalks off into the kitchen with a huff.

“So,” Sinjon claps, “We’re a union.”

“Yeah!” Georgie yells, to which we all shush him. We’re already a hair’s length away from being kicked just for  _ being  _ here.

We sit in silence for a second, long enough for our smiles to drop. “What… now,” Sinjon says.

Sim clears her throat. “We need to organize the others. We’ll need Harlem, Eastside, Brooklyn-“

With that, Sinjon chokes on his water. I raise my eyebrow and he looks down at the table. “You alright?” I ask. 

He raises his head and nods frantically. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

I raise an eyebrow and nod skeptically. “Theo, you’ll take Eastside?”

“Sure!” she says, a big smile on her face. 

An idea pops into my head. A cruel, cruel idea. “Sim, Queens.” Sim takes a sip of her water and gives me a thumbs up. “I will take Harlem, so that leaves Sinjon with Brooklyn?” I say, poorly maintaining a serious expression. 

Sinjon’s face goes pale as a sheet and I swear I see his pupils shrink. He points to himself with raised eyebrows. “Me? You- You want me? To take Brooklyn?”

I wave my hand through the air. “Yeah, pay  _ Helena Robles _ a nice visit.”

He blinks a few times and his lips turn downward.

I lock eyes with Sim and burst out laughing. “Kidding! Come on, you really thought we would-“

Sinjon crosses his arms and huffs, loudly. “What the hell is wrong with you! You really thought you could get me all excited and then put me on  _ Brooklyn? _ No, screw you Perce,” he finishes, to which everyone continues to laugh. His face goes bright red and he drops it against the table with a  _ thud. _

The bell on the door twinkles but none of us care enough to look up. “Geez, what did Brooklyn ever do to you?” says a familiar voice in a playful tone.

My eyes widen and my head snaps around so fast, I'm surprised I don't break my neck. Monty’s cheeks grow pink when we lock eyes, and I’m sure mine do as well. There’s a girl standing behind him, but I don’t notice her until she roughly pushes past him with a scowl. 

Monty rolls his eyes, still facing me. “Felicity, was that  _ really  _ necessary?” he complains.  _ His sister,  _ I think. I remember him telling me about her, with distaste. I can see where it might come from.

She shrugs, pulling out the chair next to Sim, and he scoffs. He looks back over and smiles when he realizes I never took my eyes off of him. My heart starts pounding as he starts toward me. It feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest when he slides next to me in the booth. Our height difference is less stark when we’re sitting, but I still have to lower my eyes to look at his. 

A conversation between Felicity and the other guys sparks, and I take a sip of my water and eavesdrop. Sim brings an arm up to rest on the table, leaning on her hand and gazing at Felicity.  _ Uh oh.  _ I’m gonna have to deal with  _ that  _ later.

“I tried coming by earlier,” Monty says, nonchalant as Jacobi brings him a glass of fizzing water. 

My eyes flit to the side, but his gaze is fixed at the rest of the group. “Oh, we weren’t there, I’m sorry-“

He finally looks at me, mimicking Sim and dropping his cheek onto his fist. His eyes search my face, an easy smile on his lips. “Don’t apologize,” he grins. I give him an awkward smile in response and take a huge gulp of my water immediately afterward.

I recover soon enough and run a hand through my hair. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

He blushes. “I didn’t, actually. I used your map this morning and found your spot. I didn’t see you there so I started walking home. Thankfully,” he smiles, “this place happened to be on the way.” The smile drops and he lets out a low growl from the back of his throat. I avert my eyes and stare down a random spot in the grain of the table. I’m so sure I’m red as a cherry, I’d bet all my life savings on it. Not that that’s much. “Just my luck that  _ someone  _ decided to tag along,” he finishes.

“Your sister?”

He glares over his shoulder and nods. “Yeah.” He waves his hand through the air. “Enough about her. Why are you in here and not, you know...“

I swallow deeply then clear my throat. I don’t know how he’ll react to the strike, since he works for the papers and all. I weirdly have a lot of trust for the guy, having met him yesterday. However, I’d still like to make sure he won’t turn us in to the cops, or worse, Lockwood, the head of the Refuge, himself. “Funny story. We actually-“ I start, at the same time Felicity yells:

“A strike?!” 

Everyone else at her table just nods, like this is completely obvious and that this woman we’ve just met is out of our personal loop. Felicity’s eyebrows stay at an altitude far above the mountains, and I twist my head to check Monty’s reaction. It’s blank, mostly, except for a mildly furrowed brow and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Felicity starts interrogating Sim at the next table over, but I decide to let her handle that and focus on Monty instead.

I knock our shoulders together. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You alright?”

He looks up at me innocently, eyes wide and blue. “What? Oh- sorry. Yes, I’m fine.” He takes a sip from his glass, obviously avoiding my gaze.

With that, I notice how physically close we are. I must not have moved away after bumping our shoulders. Or maybe it was  _ him  _ that didn’t. Nope, wishful thinking. Shut it down.

…Is what I  _ should  _ do. Instead, I pick a poster on the opposite wall to focus on and slide my pinky across the booth seat to meet his. Over the chatter from the table to our left, I hear his breath catch. Shit. 

_ Well, can’t blame a guy for trying,  _ I think. However, I’m quick to correct my mind when I feel a hand, not just a pinky, a  _ hand,  _ hesitantly touch mine as I’m trying to pull it away. I can’t resist glancing back at him beside me, and my heart jumps, no, shoots up like a  _ rocket,  _ at the sight of him looking back at me with a kind of questioning nervousness written all over his face. An expression that asks “Is this okay?” In response, I look him straight in the eyes as I turn my palm upward, and lift it slightly so that ours touch.

It feels like a spark from Sim’s matchbox, but multiplied by a hundred. The second our hands touch, I’m tempted to pull mine away due to the shock. I don’t. I keep it there, both of us staring at each other. It’s like a staring contest. One where you can blink, but each time you do, you have to keep staring even longer.

If eyes are the windows to the soul, Monty’s soul is the Atlantic Ocean. Warm and fun and summery. But there’s something else in those eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something like the ocean in the winter, ice cold and rough. 

  
  


“Hellooooo? Earth to Percy? Loverboy? You there?” Sinjon singsongs, and I’m absolutely sure that the moment is broken. Everyone else is engrossed in their own conversations, Sinjon clearly having gotten bored enough to start in on me.

I turn my attention to him with an eye roll. I open my mouth to respond, but no sound comes out due to the fact that Monty laces our fingers together and brings our now intertwined hands down to rest on the bench instead of hovering awkwardly in the air like before. The words get caught in my throat, and I shut my mouth with a click of my teeth. Sinjon raises an eyebrow, then, not subtly at all, peeks underneath the table at our hands on the bench. His mouth forms an O shape, which quickly twists into a grin. 

Sinjon looks around once before slinking over to the chair on the opposite side of our table. He clears his throat. “So you must be Monty,” he teases.

Monty just grins and stretches his free hand across the table, the other one still clasped in mine. It hasn’t moved or anything, I just feel that it should be noted again. “That’s the name. How about you?”

Sinjon glances at me before hesitantly taking Monty’s hand and shaking it. “Sinjon,” he says, pulling it away. “You know, I’ve heard  _ plenty  _ about you.”

Unable to bear the pure embarrassment that is building in my throat, I just drop my head down on the table, pressing my nose into the wood. That is, until Monty starts laughing, genuinely laughing, and I turn my head sidewise to get a better look. Sinjon, looking extremely proud of himself, cracks some jokes I’m not paying attention to. I glance in his direction, then immediately back to Monty. 

Sinjon takes notice of this, as made evident by his harsh snapping in front of my face. I finally lift my head off the table and stare at him with a huff. 

Monty lifts his glass beside me and Sinjon rolls his eyes. “Come on Percy, don’t look so upset. You’ll have plenty of time to eye-fu-“ he starts, being cut off by Monty violently choking on his drink. I straighten and cut out Sinjon completely until Monty waves me off.

This upsets Sinjon even more, and he shoots up from the table and crosses his arms. “Fine.  _ Clearly _ , you have priorities that need to be taken care of. Don’t mind me, your best friend who you’ve known since childhood. I’ll just be on my way,” he says, extremely dramatically as he flips his shoulder and walks back to his table.

Once he’s gone, I lay my cheek against my fist so I’m at eye level with Monty. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head. “Yes, definitely. It’s just-“ he laughs again, “Your friends are nuts, Perce.”

I roll my eyes fondly and punctuate the gesture with a squeeze of his hand. Monty smiles, not smirks or grins or anything of the sort, smiles. 

Across the restaurant, I hear the telltale sound of Sinjon laughing. A bark laugh, like he’s preparing himself for a sarcastic comment. Monty and I both turn our heads in his direction.

“You want to do what?” Sim asks, in disbelief, to a very frustrated looking Felicity.

“I said, I want to cover your strike.” She turns to Sinjon and sticks her finger in his face. “Would you stop laughing, you dimwit?”

“Hold on Fel, how do you expect to do this?” Monty asks from beside me. He sounds genuinely curious instead of teasing.

I’m a bit curious too, not that I’ll say it out loud for fear of it sounding rude. A lady reporter covering our story? It’ll never get past the editors! I’ve never heard of a lady working for the papers. Lots of people still think that all a girl is good for is cooking and cleaning. I know for sure that that’s not the case, what with living with Sim for a good portion of my life.

Felicity shrugs. “I’ll interview them,” she gestures to the newsies around her, “then write it down. Publish it in  _ The Sun _ I thought you at least comprehended what writing is. I think too much of you, don’t I?” She’s clearly very riled up, but damn. That must sting.

Monty huffs a puff of air out through his nose but doesn’t say anything. 

I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

“I ain’t ever seen a girl get a main spot in the news,” Sinjon blurts. Count on him to have no shame, ever.

Felicity looks around once. I knew our gang was kind of intimidating from the outside, but I never would have thought we’d be enough to crack a nut like her.

“Listen, I’m just getting out of the social pages, but if you give me a  _ chance _ -“ she starts, and Sinjon interrupts by throwing his hands into the air.

He sighs. “I’m sorry Feli, but-“

“Do  _ not  _ call me that,” she snaps.

Sinjon raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry. All I’m saying is that,” he glances over at me guiltily, “we can’t have this story running straight into the ground. We have a cause, and if it can’t even get past a group of editors, where will it go?”

I turn to Monty beside me. He’s looking at me with anticipation, watching to see what my next move is. “You know what,” I say, twisting back around. Felicity’s head snaps up. “We’ll do it. I mean, it’s not like we’ve gotten a better offer anyway. No harm, right?”

Sinjon looks at me for a moment, then a dam breaks, and he nods. I can’t help but smile when Felicity claps her hands together with excitement. “Okay, we’ll need first person accounts. Interviews, and everything,” she tells the group.

Right as the words leave her mouth, Sim’s hand shoots up into the air. Monty and I both start to snicker, so I look over to him and roll my eyes fondly at Sim’s thinly veiled attraction to Felicity. 

With our eyes locked, Monty raises his free hand and says, “I’ll interview Percy.” 

“Perfect!” Felicity chirps. 

I quirk an eyebrow so Monty leans in to whisper, “You’re welcome. She would’ve asked you eventually.” 

And maybe I’m a little disappointed. Maybe I wanted him to want to spend more time with me alone. Oh well, it’s best for dreams to die when they’re still just dreams.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, adding a fake laugh to the end. 

Monty chews his lip, and his brow furrows. I must not be hiding my emotions as well as I think I am. Eventually he tips his head and squeezes my hand again. It’s like a shot of butterflies being pumped into my bloodstream, traveling straight to my heart and stomach. 

“How about we get out of here, huh? Little off-site interview.” 

The butterflies start to swarm and I nod. He smiles from his eyes again, and without even meaning to, I return it.

  
  


°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

“This is  _ your  _ place?” Monty asks, looking around my apartment at Jeanne’s. It’s cluttered, but evening sunlight rolls in from the windows and bathes even the mess in gold. The high ceiling is like a glimpse of the yellow orange sky outside.

“Yeah, it’s definitely mine,” I answer, dropping my key on to the vanity across from the bed. I lean against it as Monty sits down on my bed. He looks uncomfortable, as if he doesn’t fit right in with the beautiful, dreamy atmosphere. 

“I like it,” he notes. 

I snort. “Are you sure? Look at you! You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Monty crosses his arms with a huff. I can’t tell whether or not that was supposed to be cute, but I certainly think it was. “Lies. Get over here.”

I quirk an eyebrow with a smirk, but walk over to sit beside him on my bed. The springs squeal, and he tucks a leg underneath himself to face me. “What’s your story, Percy Newton, newsboy, handsome devil?” he winks.

I scoff at that last one and try my best not to internalize it just yet. I’ll worry about how it makes me feel when he’s  _ not  _ present. “There really isn’t one. My parents died when I was real little, I came to the home, I started selling papers.”

“Oh, I’m- I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. His hand travels across my blanket to rest over mine. I don’t pull away.

“It’s alright. Happened so long ago, I don’t really remember them that well anyway.” I notice his pitiful expression and use some of that sunlight to lighten the mood. “Hey, how’s about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s your story?” I nudge. His face flushes and he looks away, then back to me. “Same as you. Except- Well no, not really. I grew up rich, two parents, a Felicity. That’s it.”

I almost laugh at the way he implies that that life he’s living is so common and boring. I would  _ kill  _ to live like that. Except, if there’s one thing I _ do  _ remember my parents teaching me, it’s that things are rough all over. In France, where Daddy was from, or the islands like Mama. That being said, I’d much rather have it rough in a mansion with both of them still around. “Come on. Any hobbies?”

“This isn’t about me,” Monty snaps. I recoil a bit at his tone, but he intertwines our fingers between us. “Sorry. Speaking of hobbies, you’ve got a couple, right? Violin, song-writing, poetry-“

“Woah, woah, woah, what? Poetry? How did you?”

“The one you… wrote me.” He pulls my crumpled up poem from last night out of his shirt pocket. My breath catches, and he lowers the page. “What? Was that not for me?” he rushes.

“No, no, no! It was, don’t worry. I wasn’t exactly planning on you  _ seeing  _ it, that’s all.” My face heats up, and he starts to grin. “Shut up!” I laugh.

He joins in, then ducks his head to hide the smile. I lean back on my hands and stroke his hand with my thumb. If heaven is real, this is it. Pure bliss. 

“Tell me about the strike,” he says, breaking the moment.

I sigh and look toward the ceiling. It seems miles away. “We planned it this morning. Montague made the prices higher, so we’re not working until they come back down, plain and simple. First  _ full  _ day without work is tomorrow. We’ve gotta gather the other guys from around the city still. Sim is our President-“

“She’s the one who was making eyes at my sister?”

The corners of my lips turn up. “Yeah, that’s her. That’s kind of it.”

Without looking up, Monty mumbles, “Are you scared?”

I squeeze his hand, then tip his head up with my other fingers. “Hey, don’t worry about me! I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Monty shrugs, not pulling away from my touch. “Yeah, it’s kind of my job to worry about you though.”

I smile. “You’ve got me there.” He giggles for a second, and I drop my hand away from his face. 

Embracing the silence, I lean back on my hands again, face turned skyward. The warm sun washes down on me. After a minute or two of listening to how my breath sounds alongside his, I feel Monty lay his head against my shoulder, moving closer to me. I let him, breathing out the last of my stress for tomorrow and savoring the feeling.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed!! sorry it took so long


	4. Seize the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i’m sticking the trigger warnings in these notes bc they’re REALLY important that you pay attention to. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings!!
> 
> there is some violence in this chapter, if that is something you are sensitive to, please stop reading after Platt says “That’s fine!” 
> 
> enjoy!!

**Monty**

  
  


I end up sneaking through my front door at around two in the morning. Percy and I stayed up together at his place above Jeanne’s theatre talking for hours. We talked about everything. I’ve never done that before. The hazy sun bled into moonlight, and we reluctantly said our goodbyes.

“I could walk you home,” he had offered, chin resting on the top of my head. I couldn’t help but laugh at that one. My father seeing me all buddy-buddy with a newsie? That’s just a slap to the face waiting to happen. And maybe a punch to the gut too.

I can’t deny that the nature of Percy and I’s relationship is awfully strange, from an outsider’s perspective. It’s not out of the ordinary for men to be affectionate with their friends. Something about this just seems… different.

People like me (and possibly Percy, if my suspicions prove correct) aren’t seen as  _ ordinary _ , though. To the outsider we’re dirty, sinners, monsters, you know. Blah blah blah, whatever. I let that stop getting to me a long time ago. I think they’re wrong, that’s what matters.

On occasion, my father will stay awake late into the night in his study. I was extra careful tip-toeing past his office last night, just in case it had been one of those times. Finally, I made it up to my room and gently closed my door with a sigh of relief.

I had leaned against it, pressing the back of my head to the polished wood, only one boy on my mind. 

  
  


°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

  
  


I wake to the sound of birds chirping, and the feeling of someone hitting me repeatedly with a rolled up newspaper. 

I crack an eye open and flinch when I notice Felicity leaning over me. “Oh, good. You’re not dead,” she deadpans. “Come on, we have work to do.”

I risk a glance out the window. It’s still dark, as if the sun is just waking up as well. “What the- What time is it?” I ask, yawning as I finish the question.

She rolls her classic eye roll. “Already behind schedule. Get up.” She starts pacing around the room, and I sit up with a scowl, aggravatedly rubbing my eyes. “The rally is at eight. We have… quite a bit of time until then, so I’d like to continue working on the story. Seeing that it needs to go out tomorrow morning, we need to keep chipping away at it. You did get some notes from the leader, Percy, was it?” she says, absentmindedly flipping through the newspaper she used to assault me.

“Keep it down!” I drop my voice lower. “Yes, his name is Percy, but Father can’t know that.”

Felicity gives me a look of understanding and nods. Neither of us have had the privilege of enduring one of Father’s moods regarding the strike yet. He definitely knows it’s happening, that I’m sure of. He’s powerful. Powerful enough to think the newsies have nothing against him. I don’t think humpty dumpty has started to crack yet. 

Though if and when the moods do start, they’ll be nothing beyond an inconvenience to Felicity. Father pretends she doesn’t exist anyway. I’d rather that than the current relationship I have with him.

Felicity clears her throat. “Right, so, the typewriter is in my room. Get dressed and meet me back there as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” I say, dismissing her with a wave of my hand. I hold an arm over my face and while my eyes are shut, I hear her walk away and the door click shut. Once she’s gone, I grab the pillow from under my head and shove my face into it.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

I’m faithful to Felicity’s orders, slipping through her door around ten minutes later. I feel dead on my feet. For some strange reason, getting four hours of sleep does  _ not _ leave you well rested! I wonder how Percy’s feeling. Probably still sleeping soundly, the rising sun beating down on his delicate face and turning his features to gold. That bastard.

Felicity’s at her typewriter, click-clacking away and acting as if she didn’t notice my arrival. That is, until she sighs and turns around, motioning for me to take a seat on her couch.

“It seems like you’re perfectly fine to continue on by yourself,” I complain, flopping down onto it.

Felicity stops typing for a split second to make a face, then keeps going. Eyes on the typewriter, she asks, “What have you gotten from your interview with Percy?”

Ha.  _ Interview _ . By ‘interview’, I don’t think she means leaning back against Percy’s chest, lazily tracing shapes into the crook of his elbow and asking an occasional question.

“Lots of things,” I say, blushing at the memory. Nothing  _ happened  _ happened, it was just… nice. Which is new. I’ve never been with a  _ nice  _ guy before. Sure, maybe guys who are nice for as long as they need to be, but never someone who is just good because they can’t help it. 

Her fingers move over the keys and back at lightning speed. It’s mesmerizing to watch her. I could fall asleep right now, not that it’d be hard in the first place. “Well, one thing at a time. Start from the beginning,” she instructs, not missing a beat.

“Well, they planned the strike on the morning after the prices were raised. They’ve got a president, other officers, the works,” I recount, closing my eyes and remembering how Percy’s mouth moved while he was telling me so.

“See? How hard was that?”

I purse my lips. “Ha ha, very funny. They’re not scared,” I continue. “Well, Percy’s not, at least. Brave, really he is. Brave, heroic, handsome, kind-“

Felicity stops. “Oh. So  _ that’s  _ what this is. See, for once I thought you actually cared about the integrity of journalism.

You just want to get in his pants.”

I scoff. “Those  _ pants _ are worn by one of the faces of the strike! A face that is  _ going  _ to be on the front page. That is,” I smirk cruelly, “if  _ you  _ can get it together enough to write this story in the first place.”

Felicity’s eye twitches. “Would you like to write it instead. Oh wait! You couldn’t even if you tried. I doubt you’d be able to think for that long without starting to blow smoke.”

Not in the mood to continue the back and forth at such an hour as this, I ask, “What do you have so far?”

She turns back to the papers with narrowed eyes. “ _ New York City’s lifeblood, the newsboys of Lower Manhattan, have clotted. The newly formed ‘Newsboy Union’ is taking the city by storm, one unsold paper at a time. Led by the fearless Sim Aldajah and Percy Newton, the sky’s the limit!” _

Not bad. I think there should have been something in there about Percy’s freckles, maybe his hands too, but I can’t complain. ‘Fearless’ will surely be good enough for someone who’s never even received a second glance from the city’s searching eyes.

“Good. Real good,” I yawn. “Can I go back to bed now?”

Felicity breathes out a whoosh of air through her nose and squints through her reading glasses up at the clock. “You have two hours.”

I jump up from the couch like it’s on fire and clap my hands together in a praying position. “That’s good enough. Thank you, gotta get on my way now, bye!” I call from the door. 

I can practically hear her eye roll, but that’s not what I chose to focus on as I slam her bedroom door shut and skip back down to my room.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

I do end up snoring those next two hours away. The second I collapsed onto my bed, I was out. Felicity chose a different method to wake me up this time around. Instead of the newspaper-assault, she opted for throwing the blankets off of me and poking me until I poked back.

Now, as we make our way to the circulation desk, the summer heat is in full swing. The city is awake, bustling about with more noise than is probably necessary. Living in the heart of Manhattan is a death sentence when you’re hungover. There’s other newsboys from other papers milling around, hawking their goods to whoever their eyes catch. 

Today, I embrace the noise, letting the summer sun hit my skin. Sweat pricks at the back of my neck. I can’t imagine how Felicity feels, in her ankle length, long sleeve dress. I don’t think she’s got a petticoat on. To my knowledge, it’s still stuffed under my bed from the last time I stole it from her. I can’t be blamed for the undebatable fact that I look better in it than she probably ever could.

When we arrive at the circulation desk, the first thing I do is search among the crowd for Percy. Well, not much of a  _ crowd _ . It’s just Percy’s gang, excitedly talking around a bench. I clear my throat to get their attention and Percy’s head is the first to shoot up. Felicity trails behind me with a camera in hand, so I walk over toward Percy and his lit up eyes. 

“Good morning, Darling,” I drawl, standing next to the bench. Percy looks up at me through his lashes, then grins. Before I can say anything else, he shoots up from his seat and grabs me around the middle, lifting me off my feet in a hug. 

“Hey! You’re just in time,” he shouts, plopping back down to the bench and dragging me down next to him. Not even next to him, basically on his lap. A warm tingle of excitement shoots through me like a drug. Suddenly feeling drunk, I slump down into him, as if the arm around me could swallow me whole. 

“Okay,” Percy says, and everyone at the table looks at him. He has his chin leaning on my shoulder, so the group is looking at  _ us _ too. The rowdy blond, Sinjon, I think, tries to mask a giggle behind his hand, playing it off as a cough. 

“What have we got? As you already know,” Percy’s voice falls slightly, “Brooklyn wants some more hard proof that we’re in this for keeps before they join us. That’s exactly what we’ll give them, right? Sim, what did Queens say?”

Sim makes a so-so gesture with her hand. “They’re still on the fence. Wanna see what Brooklyn thinks first.”

“Alright that’s…” Percy trails off. He breathes a huff of air through his nose, which blows against my cheek and makes me shiver. “Theo, Eastside?”

Theo grimaces. “I’m sure they’ll-“ She puts on a bright smile. “I’m  _ sure  _ they’ll come around eventually!”

“Harlem? Sinjon?” Percy stutters.

“They’re in!” Sinjon exclaims, to everyone’s delight. “As  _ soon _ as we hear from Brooklyn,” he finishes. 

The entire group makes noises of frustration and deflates. All of the excitement from just a few minutes ago has seemingly gone up in smoke. “What the hell happens now? If we can’t get any of the smaller districts, Helena is  _ never  _ gonna take us seriously!” Sinjon yells. 

Sim grimaces. “No- I mean, we gotta show ‘em all that  _ we’re  _ serious. As in, the unionized newsies of  _ Manhattan.  _ Then they’ll get off their high horses and stop giving a damn about what  _ Brooklyn  _ thinks.”

Not likely. Brooklyn is tough, and mean. If you get Brooklyn to do  _ anything _ , others will follow. I think Percy knows too, judging by the way he stiffens beside me. 

“I’m sure she’s right, guys,” he lies. Suddenly, this entire operation feels like it’s lost it‘s fuel. Yesterday at the deli spirits were so high and it really felt like we could  _ win _ this. They could finally stick it to my father and Felicity and I would have been able to prove that we’re not just Henri Montague’s kids. This sure meant a lot to Felicity, definitely more than me. A real story, just for her to write. 

“Come on! Get it  _ together _ ! You’ve already planned this, put in the work, and now you’re just giving it all up? Unbelievable!” Felicity says, shaking her head. 

Percy gently sets his hands on my hips. I think he’s about to lean in and whisper something real sweet in my ear, but he just slides me off of him and stands up. I can’t complain, especially with how fired up he seems now, running a hand through his curls. “We’re not giving up a thing. Really, she’s right. I’m scared, hell, I’m terrified. I’m sure you are too,” he tells the group. “But we’ve got each other. Who gives a damn if Brooklyn, or Harlem, or Queens doesn’t believe in us. I believe in us. We set our mind to this, we can’t afford to back down now.”

It’s like seeing a whole different Percy from the one I spent the day with yesterday. He’s still as gentle and as kind, but there’s something else here too. He’s strong, especially for just seventeen. I wonder if he was forced to grow up the way I was as a kid. I hope not, but that’s wishful. 

Sim slaps her hand down on the bench. “The strike? Well, the strike starts right damn now!” she yells. As if they’re following the sound, a new group of kids join us near the circulation desk. My heart jumps with hope at the idea that this might be the gang from another district. That hope is crushed like a butterfly’s wing soon enough because, unlike us, they hold coins in hand and walk straight up to Platt. 

Georgie leans forward, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. “Who’s they?” he asks.

“Scabs,” I whisper, eyes wide. He really already called in the replacements. He probably barely even lifted a finger. Everyone’s looking for some way to get themselves off the ground. 

“We outta soak ‘em,” Sim growls, but by the time she does, Percy’s already standing before them.

“Guys!” he shouts, earning their attention. I watch as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. “They paying you extra? Is that why you’re here? Don’t you get it? We’re  _ disposable  _ to them. All of us,” he gestures to everyone, scabs and strikers alike. “I know that you know this isn’t right. We shouldn’t have to be pawns in their games just to survive. So go ahead, stand there. Buy your papers. Or, you could  _ stand  _ with us.  _ We  _ don’t stab each other in the back. If you do, you just aint one of us,” he takes a deep breath. “So?”

Time seems to stop. The scabs’ faces morph and twist. They look back and forth between each other. I pull my eyes away with reluctance, and that’s when I notice Felicity. She’s sitting at the end of the bench scribbling in her notebook at lightning speed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone write so fast.

My eyes are pulled back to Percy and the scabs like magnets. The tallest one, a big, muscular guy steps forward. My breath catches as he comes closer to Percy. Percy may have height, but goddamn if that boy isn’t a twig. Just as I see Percy retract, slumping into himself, the scab takes his paper and throws it down. The others come up to stand beside him, following the lead and throwing theirs down too. 

“That’s fine,” Platt yells from the desk. All of our heads snap over, a newfound confidence roused by Percy’s speech and the scabs’ revolt courses through our veins. A sick, twisting smile blooms on his face, and I feel mine drop. “I was in the mood for some skull cracking anyways.” With that, he flicks his hand and a new group of boys, tough-faced and big, some with fingers full of rings and some with bats, step forward. Less step, more lunge.

“Get ‘em!” Sim screams, and the entire group, including the scabs, surges forward. Felicity pulls me backward, over the bench and off to the side. I watch as Sim catches one of the guys straight in the nose, hard enough for him to recoil. 

My eyes can’t settle on just one person to watch. Sinjon and Theo are both on one boy, Sinjon wrapped around him like a backpack pulling his hair while Theo lets her fists have their way with his stomach. 

Another man comes up behind Theo, slugging her with a baton in the side. Sinjon yelps, dropping off the first guy’s back. The second takes his baton, giving it a big windup before bringing it down straight on Sinjon’s foot. I gasp as he lets out a scream of pain and curls in on himself.

Thankfully, the two guys buzz off right after that. I only notice why when Sim comes barreling over to Theo and Sinjon. Sim pushes Theo, yelling for her to run as she scoops up Sinjon, who is still writhing in pain, off the ground. She catches him in a bridal carry, setting him down next to Felicity and I. Felicity immediately crouches down beside him, cradling his ankle. 

Just then, Percy runs over to the rest of us. I let out a cry of relief when I see that he’s walking fine and not completely battered like the others. I surge forward and take his face in my hands. 

“Oh my god, Percy are you alright? Where are you hurt? What-“ I babble, turning his face back and forth as I hysterically search for bruises.

“Yeah I’m okay,” he says, eyes wide, grabbing my wrists. “I’m just-“ he starts. 

He’s cut off by the sound of Theodosia screaming. We all turn around to see what’s distressing her so badly, and when I catch sight of it, a sudden wave of nausea runs over me. A few cops stand off the side, batons in hand and ready to strike. Georgie is running at one of the guys, screaming a pathetic war cry. The man turns around, catching Georgie with his elbow right on the cheek. 

He falls backward with the momentum, knocked to the ground with one hit. Percy sharply inhales beside me, and before we can stop him, he runs forward. We all start screaming for him, wary of the approaching cops. He doesn’t listen. Percy just runs over, lifts Georgie off the ground and damn near throws him at us. 

Percy tries running back to us, everyone in the group reaching out to grab his hand, but right at the moment, one of the cops grabs the back of his shirt and drags him backward. The cop turns him around, then socks him hard in the face so that he falls to the ground. 

I scream and try to run to him. I feel a mass of arms wrap around me from behind to hold me back, but I can’t stop fighting. I can’t let Percy get hurt like this and just stand. I watch helplessly as they wrestle him up, handcuffs over his wrists, and start pushing him away from us. 

I notice then what the back of the cop’s jacket says. In big, bolded letters, it reads  _ NEW YORK CITY REFUGE. _ They round the corner, and suddenly Percy is gone. 

Someone cries out from behind me, but I can’t tell who. I can’t stop screaming. Screaming Percy’s name, screaming for the cops to bring him back, just screaming. My throat is raw and my cheeks are damp with tears when the newsies finally let go of me. Without their support, I fall to the ground, kneeling on the hard concrete. Shocked cries and angry yells are all around me, closing in like walls. 

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrap around me. And then another. And another. And another. Each of Percy’s friends comes over one by one to offer me some sort of comfort. It shouldn’t be this way. This is  _ their  _ strike. I should be tending to their wounds, keeping them company, comforting  _ them _ . Not the other way around.

I feel numb.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

I thought that numbness would fade after some sleep. It didn’t, not even a little bit. I stayed up all night, tossing and turning back and forth in a bed that was too cold. If I did manage to fall asleep, Percy’s eyes as he was dragged away would flash before my eyes. I would bolt up from my bed, covered in cold sweat, trying desperately to beat the image out of my brain. 

I’m awake when the sun rises in the sky, a warm summer breeze blowing my curtains forward. It would have been a beautiful day. I roll over onto my side, not caring enough to fix the tangled up blankets around my legs as a soft knock rings through the room. 

Without waiting for an answer, Felicity walks into the room carefully. She moves as if I’m as unpredictable as one of the street cats that live under the front steps, constantly batting at our ankles with their paws. 

“What is it?” I rasp, eyes flitting up to meet hers for just a second of recognition.

Felicity chews on her lower lip. I look down and notice the newspaper in her hand. She fiddles with the end of it, flipping the corner of the page up and down. “The guys say we should meet them at the deli, if we’re up for it.” She says we, but I know that she means  _ If you’re up for it. _

I rub at my eyes, wiping away last night’s residual tears. “What time?”

“Eleven.”

It couldn’t hurt to get out of bed. And avoid father. And Richard. “I’ll go just- I need to get ready.”

She nods sharply. “Okay. I’ll be waiting in my room. Come get me when you’re ready,” she says. She sets a hand on the door, then turns around. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I make a dismissive gesture with my hand. “Oh sure. Absolutely smashing.”

She looks like she wants to object. Instead, she slips through the door, quietly clicking it shut behind her.

Stepping out onto the lawn is like being pushed straight into a freezing cold ocean without sticking a toe in to check the temperature first. The  _ bright  _ afternoon sun flies straight into my eyes, causing me to squint so much I can barely see a thing. Inside my room, it was warm. Out here though, it’s hot as a desert. Summer’s in full swing, and it wants you to know it.

The walk to the deli is done in silence. There is so much we could say, so much to discuss. She finished the article, it was published this morning. It makes them out to be heroes. 

It’s strange, walking past the circulation desk but not hearing the shouts of exaggerated headlines and desperation. 

I know Felicity feels it too. The waters have shifted in the city. Pathetic signs reading  _ STRIKE  _ are pasted to the sides of buildings near the desk. Everyone has to have heard about the riot by now. I wonder if it’s reached Brooklyn. I wonder if they know what they’ve caused. My hands involuntarily ball into fists at my sides.

It takes me a second to realize it when we arrive at the diner. I’ve been too wrapped up in my own thoughts all day. My feet move along the streets while my head stays floating among the clouds. 

The newsies are sitting in the same spots they were the other day. When Felicity and I step through the door, their recognition of our arrival is delayed and halfhearted. Purple half moons make their homes beneath each of their eyes. Ducking my head, I slide into the empty booth I sat in the last time we were here. Except then, I had someone to keep me company. I rub at my eyes again, praying to anyone that might be listening that I don’t start crying in front of them.

It’s so silent you could hear a pin drop. Felicity clears her throat, and it bounces off the walls of the shop. “You guys made the front page,” she muses, dropping the newspaper she was fiddling with this morning onto the table.

Sim’s eyes widen and she snatches up the paper. Her voice lifts as she recites the headline that Felicity was writing yesterday. “Holy smokes! Get a look at  _ this _ !” she exclaims, pointing to a large black and white picture of them all on the day they announced the strike.

Georgie climbs over, rubbing his cheek tiredly, and leans over Sim’s shoulder. Suddenly, a big, toothy grin breaks out across his cheeks. “That’s me! You see it?” he turns to the others, “It’s me!”

Sim laughs, then ruffles his hair. “It’s  _ us,  _ kiddo.”

Just then, Sinjon gets up from his spot to a concerned Theo’s dismay, who promptly stands beside him to help him up. He waves her off, grabbing a wooden crutch from beside him and stuffing it under his arm. He swiftly makes his way over to Sim’s table, using the crutch as if he has been his entire life. 

“Geez Louise, would you look at that!” Sinjon brings a hand to his heart, looking far off into the distance, “ _ Sinjon Westfall, our front-page star _ . I can already see it in lights!” he laughs. 

“Alright Grandpa, let’s settle down for a nap,” Sim teases, lightly patting him on the shoulder.

Sinjon pulls away, stepping backwards so everyone can see his display even better. “Who you callin’ Grandpa? Why, I believe you’re talking to the King of New York!” 

Felicity rolls her eyes, but her eyes are shining. She must be pretty proud of herself. 

“As my royal court, I propose that you all order the finest water this kingdom can offer, on me!” 

Sim raises her eyebrows sarcastically. “Man, that’s a whole lotta nothing you’re gonna have to shell out. You rich now?”

“Rich on  _ life _ , baby!” 

She shakes her head. “Don’t make sense. Sorry!”

Sinjon shrugs. “I think it does. Fame feels real good, don’t it fellas?” 

“It does!” Georgie exclaims. “If I was king,” Georgie turns to Sinjon, “I would order soooo many sandwiches! And then every night, I’d have a slice of pie to go with!”

Sinjon ruffles his hair. “But you already  _ are  _ a king, King George.”

Georgie’s eyes go wide, as does his smile. He’s a real cute kid. Percy says he’s like a little brother. That makes me sad, imagining Georgie having to watch his big brother, his hero, get dragged away from him. I’ve known Percy for a week or so. Georgie has known him for who knows how long. 

“What are the duties of the ‘King of New York’?” Theo asks.

Sinjon grins mischievously, leaning on his crutch as if it’s a bar table. “Well, be rich, be a knockout, check and check!” he says, counting on his fingers as he goes. 

Theo shrugs. “Well, by that logic, wouldn’t that make Felicity the  _ Queen  _ of New York?”

Felicity reddens. “Oh, well that’s not-“

“No, no, I believe it does!” I muse. “Felicity, the Queen of New York city!” 

The newsies start to cheer, laughing raucously in a way that shakes the tables. Georgie and the girls strike up a new conversation. I start staring in that direction, not looking at anything in particular. I’ve fallen into this habit of spending too much time in my head. It’s not so bad in the moment, but I end up missing the life I’m  _ actually _ living. 

“Hey,” Sinjon says, snapping me out of my trance. He stumbles into the booth across from me, dropping his single crutch across his lap.

“Hello,” I reply.

Silence. 

I clear my throat. “You’ve, um-“ I gesture to the crutch.

He raises an eyebrow and shows it off. “Oh, this old thing? Yeah, yeah. It’s gonna be an extra body part of mine for a while.”

I swirl around my seltzer in it’s glass. “How so?”

Sinjon is suddenly serious. More so than I’ve seen him yet. “My foot. I uh- I busted it up real bad. They don’t know if I’ll walk again without the crutch.” His voice cracks at the end, but he plays it off as a cough, wiping his nose with the top of his hand.

“Oh, I’m…” I trail off. I think we both wish Percy was here. He’d know the exact thing to say. Sinjon would laugh, then walk away without the thought of a crutch. Percy would do that lopsided grin that sends my heart on the fritz, and everything would be good. Warm and fuzzy, like the evening sun itself.

Sinjon breathes out a heavy sigh. His eyes look sad. The bags beneath his lash line seem to deepen. “He’s tough as nails. He’ll be okay,” he tells me, looking into my eyes with pure sincerity, nothing comedic about it.

It goes unspoken that he’s talking about Percy. I just pray that he’s right.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ouch amirite


	5. Something to Believe In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! kinda weird that this is almost over, it feels like it just started! anyway, enjoy !!

**Monty**

It’s been four days since the riot. My sleep has returned to a state of semi-normalcy, but the sleep that I do get is plagued by nightmares. They start normally, for the most part. Sometimes I’m walking down the street near the circulation desk, sometimes I’m at the deli. It’s usually a sunny, warm day. It feels like nothing should be wrong.

The next part always stays the same. I’m transported to the day of the riot. Percy reaches out for my hand while he’s running from the cop, but I can’t take it. Time stops, and he looks me straight in my eyes and tells me it’s my fault. My fault the strike is failing, my fault that Sinjon will probably never walk again, my fault that he’s at the refuge while I get to walk free. 

Then Percy is dragged backward, hit by the cop, and knocked to the ground. In the dream, he doesn’t get up. He lays there, unmoving on the pavement, while all of his best friends scream behind me. He told me it was all my fault, and now it’s my fault that he’s dead.

I wake up in a cold sweat every time. Taking huge gulping breaths and trying not to cry, I have to calm myself down alone. Once the hysteria is mostly gone, I hop out of my lonely bed and pace the room. 

I keep Percy’s poem from the theatre in the pocket of my best coat. I’ll hold it in my shaky hands and will my eyes to focus just enough to let the words wash over me. It’s almost as if Percy’s there reciting it for me, if I focus hard enough.

But of course it’s not. Percy’s still away at the Refuge, far from my arms. When I remember this, I bite my lip, gently folding the paper into it’s worn creases and sliding it back in my coat pocket. Then I go back to sleep and repeat the cycle. 

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

There’s a rapping on my door. It’s a rainy day, humidity seeping through the crack in my window used to ventilate the room while keeping out the bugs. Sweat coats my forehead in a thin sheen, so I wipe it off and throw back my blanket.

“What is it?” I yell. Father never comes up to my room, instead preferring to get one of the servants to call me down to his office. Felicity and I haven’t spoken since the day after the riot, four days ago. It’s as if all has returned to normal. No strike, no riot, no pretty boy with freckles that makes my head spin.

The door opens just a sliver, enough for Sinclair to stick his head through. “I apologize for waking you, sir. There’s been a delivery for you.”

I run a hand through my hair, the thin blanket pooling around my waist as I sit up. “Do you have it with you?” I ask, still not  _ kind  _ exactly, but much less aggravated than before. Sinclair’s nice enough. He looks the other way when I’m late for curfew most times, and he’s put up with my antics for my entire life.

“Yes, sir.” He walks a small, white envelope over to my bed and places it in my outstretched hand. 

The envelope is sealed with messy clear candle wax. On the front, scribbled in black pen is my name. Not the full name, just ‘Monty’. My heart flutters, but I keep it under wraps in front of Sinclair. 

“Was this delivered by mail?” I ask, stuttering just a bit.

He shakes his head. “No, sir. Your sister gave it to me to give you earlier this morning. She said it was from “the boy with the crutch” and that you would know what that meant. I apologize if you don’t, I know no more than you do.”

The boy with the crutch.  _ Sinjon. _

“Thank you, Sinclair. Also, I’ve told you that you don’t have to call me  _ sir. _ Just Monty is fine.”

Sinclair, already halfway to the door, turns back and nods. I look back down at the letter, and when I glance up, he’s gone.

Next thing I know, the envelope is in torn up pieces on my bed, a yellowing sheet of paper revealed in the wreckage. I pick it up carefully, as if the gentlest touch could disintegrate the thing.

“ _ Dearest Monty, _

_ I hope this letter finds you in a good place. Hoping real bad. I hope you’re safe, in your own bed, wherever that may be. Hey, you may even be in my bed at Jeanne’s. As long as you’re safe.  _

_ This is Percy, by the way. _

_ You may wonder how this letter’s even finding you in the first place. Well, you didn’t keep your promise. First day we met, you said if I took you out sometime, I could know your last name. You never did tell me. Well, sending out a letter just addressed “Monty” wouldn’t be much help, would it? I tried the next best thing. Stuck the envelope you probably ripped this out of in another one, addressed to Sinjon. I’m praying he brought it to you. He’s mighty forgetful. I told him “take this to the deli, give it to him or Felicity.”  _

_ Maybe he dropped this in a sewer drain and now I’m talking to a bunch of rats. Ha Ha. _

_ I’m going to continue thinking that’s  _ not  _ the case here. I want you to know you were the first person I thought about when I found this paper. I really like talking to you. Even if we can’t really talk normally anymore, this is the next best thing, right?  _

_ I’m sorry you had to see what you did the other day. At the desk. If one thing is right about all of this, it’s that you didn’t get caught up in the rumble. I don’t know if I could forgive myself if you got hurt because of me.  _

_ Take care of the others for me, will you? Just while I’m gone. I trust you to make sure they don’t get into any trouble. I trust you, Monty. _

_ Yours, _

_ Percy” _

  
  


I don’t notice I’ve started to cry until the first tear hits the paper. Then another. I hold the letter away from my face to preserve it from any more damage. He’s  _ alive.  _ Percy’s okay, and he wrote to me, and he isn’t dead. He  _ doesn’t  _ blame me. 

I have so much to tell him. About the newsies, about how yes, I am safe. About how much I miss him. 

Maybe something about how no matter how hard I tried to drown it out with liquor or gin, no matter how hard I’d let Father beat it out of me, I can’t deny what I feel. How my heart sets on fire every time I think of him, and how it burns even worse and even hotter when I acknowledge a certain fact that I’ve tried so hard to snuff out. The fact that I am head over heels, undeniably, completely, hopelessly in love with him. 

I’ve gotta get him out of there. Out of that sick, cold, unfit place. Back to his family, the people who care. No matter how much he may object, I know it should be me in there instead. Percy has so much waiting for him in the world. Between his music, his family, his  _ future _ , the list is endless. What do I have? A father who beats me into the ground, a bottle, and a line of people I don’t love lining up to touch me, that’s what.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

I haven’t gotten time to write a reply to Percy’s letter yet. Well, write a reply that I’m going to  _ send _ . There have been… attempts. Some overly dramatic confessions, some detailed plans on how I’m going to sneak him out of the Refuge. No matter the subject, they all ended up in the can.

Now, I’m pacing far too fast and too much to form a coherent thought. Sinclair came back to my room a few minutes ago and informed me that father wants to see both Felicity and I in his office as soon as possible. That’s how I know it’s bad. If he acknowledges Felicity’s existence, there’s something really wrong. The only bright side I can find to this is that I don’t think he’ll hit me in front of her. At least I hope not, I can’t think of anything more mortifying than that.

Felicity, speak of the devil, slips into my room without a knock. She looks over her shoulder briefly before shutting the door behind her. Her eyes are wide and panicked when they lock with mine.

“Do you think he knows?” she asks, voice low.

I pick at my nails, feigning disinterest. “Oh definitely.”

“Oh, that’s…” she trails off, her thumbnail finding its way between her teeth.

It dawns on me that Felicity’s never had this kind of  _ confrontation _ with Father. Sure, he’ll send the servants down to shoo her out of the basement, where she likes to sit and fiddle with the old printing press. Besides some other reprimands for reading at the dinner table, they don’t interact all that much.

“You’ll be fine,” I dismiss. I’m almost absolutely sure that  _ she  _ will be. 

“Alright,” she breathes. “Okay. We should get down there then.”

I take a deep breath, buttoning up my vest to the top, then stand up. Not caring to stall any longer, I push past Felicity and out of my bedroom.

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

When I open the door to the study, I expect to see a few things. I expect my father to be waiting for us behind his desk, hands folded together atop it. Maybe Felicity’s paper on the desk. Something- or  _ someone _ \- I did not expect in a thousand years was  _ Richard Peele _ .

He faces away from the door, cursing under this breath and shuffling around. He looks insane. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, voice stern. I reach a hand out to guide Felicity behind me, or better, out the door. I don’t wish to deal with her judgement at the moment.

The second Richard turns around, my voice catches in my throat. I have to remind myself to keep breathing. In Richard’s forceful grip is a pale, skinny, exhausted looking Percy. His hands are held behind his back so he can’t even see Richard’s cruel smirk. His head lifted at the sound of my voice, and a tired smile stretched his lips thin.

My feet don’t wait for confirmation from my brain to start moving. Without any reservation whatsoever, I run toward Percy. Taking his sunken cheeks in my hands, I press out foreheads together and close my eyes. God, I can’t even describe how good it feels to touch him again. To feel that he’s here,  _ really _ here, not just a figment of my imagination or the starring role in my nightmares.

“ _ Percy,  _ oh my  _ god…”  _ I whimper, in a strange mixture of relief and concern simultaneously. 

He can’t reach out and run a hand through my hair, or stroke my cheek, or hold my hand, or any of the other things I desperately yearn for in this moment. “Monty, why are you here? Who-  _ Did they get you too _ ?” he asks, voice lowering at the end. His eyes sweep worriedly over my now frozen body, then back up to my eyes.

Just then, Percy is jerked backward, and he lowers his eyes once again. I back away slightly to give him some space instead of being sandwiched between Richard and I with no room to breathe.

Richard laughs once, in a twisted fashion that makes my blood boil as it rings through the study. “ _ Monty, why are you here?”  _ he mocks, tacking on a high pitched, feminine voice. He looks down on Percy and jerks him forward again. Percy moves like a ragdoll, doing nothing to fight it. “Pathetic,” Richard murmurs.

Before I can say anything in protest to Richard’s cruelty, the door behind me creaks open on rusty hinges. I stop cold in my tracks, and in walks Father, wearing his usual unfeeling expression. 

“Quiet, children.” He settles down in his chair and gestures to the seats in front of the desk. “Henry, Felicity, please sit down.”

As I sit down, I hear the word “ _ Henry? _ ” whispered in confusion, fleeting like a gust of wind. My gut squeezes, sending a wave of nausea to roll over my body. 

“I don’t remember giving permission for  _ you  _ to speak, boy,” Father snarls, sending a warning look in Percy’s direction. Percy drops his head down again. “Don’t act so confused.” He turns to me, eyes steely. “I’ve heard that you and my son have become quite  _ well-acquainted  _ over the past few weeks.”

I can’t seem to rip my eyes away from my father’s to search for Percy’s reaction. The cat’s out of the bag. It’s all over. Now that I’m no longer ‘Monty’, instead Henri Montague’s son, it’s over. No more sweet caresses by the witness of the moon itself, no more kind-hearted joking, none of it. I bite back a scream as Percy’s breath catches in a sob beside me.

“Now,” Father snaps, breaking me out of my heartbroken trance. For now, at least. “I have an offer to propose, Percy Newton.”

Percy looks up, tears unshed pooling on his waterline. The sight of it is almost enough to break me, not that it would even take much. “What is it, sir?”

“You shut down this  _ strike _ of yours, you earn your freedom. Your entire record will be wiped completely.”

Percy’s eyes widen, then narrow in a heartbeat. Time stands still as we await his answer. Could this really be it? One word, and all of our efforts turn to smoke. On the other hand, if he accepts, he’ll be free. Free to run and live his life. Even if I’m not in it.  _ Come on Percy, _ I think, though, I don’t even know what I want his answer to be.

Percy’s chin raises, a small show of dignity. “I’m sorry, sir. But I do not accept your offer.”

I let go of my breath, and Percy’s eyes flit to mine, yet he looks away with defiance just as fast. I can’t bring myself to be aggravated. I’m a liar, and now he knows.

“Very well,” Father says. “Mr. Peele, please take him away. Lockwood awaits his return on the front steps.”

Richard nods sharply. “Of course,” he agrees, before shoving Percy forward and pushing him to the door. Percy doesn’t spare a glance in my direction.

A line of fire spikes down my body until my fists shake with anger. Does it even matter if Percy sees me like this? Sure, I don’t want him to. But he has no reason to care anymore. Richard and Percy make their way to the door and walk through without another word.

Father nods. “And for you, Felicity. If I get so much as an  _ inkling  _ that you are writing in the papers for any reason other than reviewing a show, you will no longer have the opportunity to write for  _ The Sun _ . To make sure you don’t try anything, your typewriter would also be confiscated. You are dismissed.”

Her skirt brushes against my leg and she passes me, walking out of the study. Suddenly it’s completely silent. I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t look up for the life of me. When did I lose control over my own body? Dear god.

“I have another offer to propose to you, Henry.”

I hold my breath.

“I’ve told you many times about the consequences of living your entire life as a child. Clearly, you haven’t understood a  _ word _ I said. Fine, if you don’t want to listen, go ahead. But there  _ are _ consequences, Henry.”

I nod. 

“Shut down this strike yourself, and I will free your fellow delinquent. If you do not obey my request, you will be disinherited, and no longer welcomed in my home. Also, Percy Newton will stay in the refuge until he is of age, and then he will promptly be transported to a federal prison for his crimes. Understand?”

I bite my lip to hold back a sob. I could bear losing my money. I could bear living on the streets, or under a set of stairs like a feral cat. What I absolutely,  _ cannot _ bear however, is losing the man I love. Or rather, being responsible for him losing himself. He’ll be happy, with or without me. He will probably be better off. If he’s happy, that’s what matters.

I take a breath. “Yes. I- Yes I accept the offer.”

Father’s face remains unchanged. “Very well. He will be a free man within the hour. You are dismissed.”

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

Felicity is standing in the hallway in front of my bedroom door when I finally trudge up the stairs. She hears me coming, and her head snaps up. 

“Come on,” she whispers. “There’s a rally at Jeanne’s theatre this evening. Monty, we got Brooklyn.”

A sharp drop of fear seeps into my heart. She doesn’t know about my deal with Father. She knows only of Percy’s, the one he rejected. 

I have to shut this down tonight, or they’ll find Percy and throw him right back in the Refuge. God, in the span of one day I’ll lose my only friends, my sister,  _ and  _ Percy. What a nice life I’ll have after today, with only  _ Richard Peele _ to keep me company. I shiver at the thought.

“Are you alright?” Felicity asks, voice still low and wary of who may be lurking around the corners.

“Yes, I’m absolutely fine. What time is the thing?”

She rolls her eyes. “The  _ thing  _ is in half an hour. We need to start walking now if we’re going to make it in time.”

“Oh,” I mumble. That’s all I can get out. Half an hour. No time to rethink, or even prepare myself. No time to wake up from the nightmare I’m living.

Felicity takes my hand, dragging me down the hall and toward the stairs. “We’ve got to go! Come on!”

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

The theatre is swimming with nervousness and anticipation when we finally arrive. The heavy smell of cigar smoke hangs in the air. Newsies I’ve never seen before fill the theatre seats. Most have signs to identify their districts. I spot Brooklyn, Harlem, Queens, Eastside, and even more. They must really think we’re serious now. Only  _ after  _ we got our asses kicked.

Felicity beelines over to our friends, who are sitting under a dimly lit set of stairs. When they see us, they stand up, waving for us to come over to them.

“Hey guys!” Sim says.

Sinjon comes over to me, and without any warning, pulls me into a hug. I stand there stiffly for its duration, praying that nobody notices. When he pulls away, Sinjon says, “Monty, you’ll  _ never  _ believe it. Percy’s free! He didn’t tell us how or nothing, though. He’s in a real bad mood, I think he went up to his apartment-thingy upstairs. You should go say hi,” he nudges, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Putting on a fake smile, I shove at him playfully. “Nah, I think I’ll just stay down here with you guys. I’m sure he’ll be down soon.”

Sinjon shrugs, plopping back down in his seat. “Suit yourself.”

A few minutes of friendly conversation pass by. I try my best to savor every detail for my memories. The smoky smell, the hazy light, the sweltering heat of the New York summer. They’ll be something for me to hold onto, after. When I wake up alone, or worse, next to Richard, I can replay them.

Then the moment ends and the lights go down. A bright spotlight clicks on, pointing directly at the empty stage. The rowdy crowd quiets down with a few obnoxious shushing sounds from other audience members. 

Once the only noise is the shuffling of fabric and the sounds of breathing, Jeanne steps out onto the stage. She wears a full performance costume, complete with a huge white feather headpiece and a sparkly blue dress. 

She spreads her arms out wide with a beaming smile. “Hello newsies of New York City!”

The once near-silent audience immediately erupts into cheers. I shuffle awkwardly in my seat as my friends join into the noise. Sinjon bangs his crutch on the floor with a laugh. 

“Settle down, settle down,” Jeanne teases. “I think it is only fair if we give a special thank you to the ones who started all this mess.” The audience laughs again. “Everyone give it up for Manhattan!”

A spotlight shines brightly on our faces. I look over at the group for their reactions, pasting on a nervous smile. Sinjon is wrapped around Sim’s back like a backpack as they wave to the crowd. Sinjon raises his crutch in the air as a show of victory and Theo scolds him for doing so. God, I am going to miss them.

The spotlight goes off, then reappears next to Jeanne on the stage. In the light, stands Percy. He waves shyly at the audience, who cheers for him loudly. “If you don’t know him, this is my good friend, Percy Newton.”

The lights blur as tears coat my eyes. Sinjon looks at me sideways as I wipe them away. Once my vision is clear, I set my sights on Percy. His smile sobers as his eyes settle on me. Without thinking, I open my mouth to say something as if he can see me from the stage. I can’t get anything out before Percy spares me one more glance, then looks back to everyone else.

If I’m gonna do this, I’ve gotta do it now. Otherwise, I won’t be able to. Not with Percy looking at me like that. To the confusion of my friends, I stand up from my chair and gather my bearings. 

“Where you going?” Sim asks.

I shrug. “I figured I’d say a few words, right?” 

The newsies look at each other and nod. Sinjon pushes me forward. As Jeanne explains the origin of the strike, I start my walk up the aisles to the stage. I stop at the edge when Jeanne notices me. 

“Monty!” she says, quieter so that nobody else can hear. “Come up! Come up!” She stretches out her hand and drags me up when I take it. “Everybody, this is Monty! A friend of ours and a big supporter of the strike!”

Jeanne starts going on and on about all my efforts to help the newsies. While she does, Percy touches my arm. A shock shoots through me and I look up at him. He doesn’t glance back, instead just whispering, “Monty, just go back to your seat.”

Reluctantly, I shrug his hand off. I can’t bear it. It’s not that I don’t want him to touch me, I want him to  _ look _ at me. “I can’t. I have to do this, I’m- I’m so sorry.”

“Monty, I-“ Percy starts, but Jeanne cuts him off.

“Did you want to say something, Monty?” she asks, smiling encouragingly.

I glance out at the audience, then back at her. “Uh, yeah, sure,” I turn my body to them. “Hello, everyone. I’m glad you could...” I trail off, seeing Percy in the corner of my eye. I swallow down the lump in my throat. “What are we all here for tonight, really? Worker’s rights? Equal pay?”

Percy is still staring at me. So is everyone at the audience. The lights are too bright. It’s too hot. The cigar smoke is too much, and I can’t breathe.

I take another breath, my eyes sweeping over the huge crowd. “Well that’s- That’s… I’m sorry, I can’t-“ I cut off, closing my eyes. Percy’s still staring at me, I can tell. Unable to bear it, I whisper another apology to Jeanne and run off the stage. I hear the confused murmurs from the newsies in the audience, but my brain can’t make anything out over the static. 

While hysterically searching for a way out, my eyes catch on the set of stairs Percy and I took up to his apartment. Oh  _ hell. _

°♪°•°∞°•°♪°

I’m not even sure how much time is passing as I sit on the edge of Percy’s bed. It’s dark in his room, the moonlight probably being concealed by the clouds. I run my fingers through my hair in an endless cycle, just to give them something to do.

I couldn’t do it. I  _ really  _ couldn’t. What am I going to do now? Percy will be back in the stupid fucking  _ jail.  _ If I told the guys about the deal I made, and they realized I didn’t follow through, they would never talk to me again, for sure. I give my hair a slight tug, just enough to sting. Tears of frustration run down my cheeks and I don’t even bother to wipe them away.

That’s when the door knob starts to twist. A hot spike of fear hits me, and I scrub a rough hand over my face. I’m probably red as a cherry.

I keep my eyes fixed on the floor as Percy walks in. He says nothing, instead opting to shut the door with a quiet  _ click _ . My eyes flit up, and for one of the first times ever, I’m glad they don’t meet his. Percy leans against his door with crossed arms and stares at me.

Percy breathes out a long huff of air. “Monty.”

I don’t respond. What is there to say?

“What has got you so rattled?  _ Really _ ,” he says, sounding angry. He probably only keeps it under wraps so I don’t completely break down, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

“What do you  _ think _ ?” I bite, lifting my head slightly, eyes still turned down. Percy advances to stand a good distance away from me in front of the bed.

“I don’t  _ know,  _ that’s why I asked you! God, if anything  _ I  _ should be the one all messed up,” he laughs, completely humorless.

I don’t say anything in response, not wanting to rock the boat anymore than I already have. 

He scoffs. “Don’t play coy, Monty. You lie to me, lie to me  _ real  _ bad, then have the nerve to come up here and feel sorry for yourself?”

That’s what sets me over the edge. I lift my eyes, staring directly at him. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Percy!”

“Oh, are you gonna keep this a secret now too?” Percy snaps.

I gesture wildly to the air. “Fine! Let me ask you this, why do you think they let you out, huh?  _ Why do you think that is _ ?”

Percy breathes heavily, shoulders going up and down as he puffs out his chest. 

“It’s because of  _ me _ , Percy. So don’t you  _ dare  _ try to make it seem like I don’t care about you,” I snap.

Confusion takes over Percy’s face, mixing with his anger. “What are you even on about?”

I stand up from the bed, not wanting to be looked down on any longer. “After you left, after you gave up your  _ life _ for this strike, my father gave me a choice, right? He said that he’d set you free, forever, if I shut it all down. And you know what I did? I said  _ yes. _ That’s what I was  _ trying  _ to do out there, shut it down. But I couldn’t, because I know how much this means to you.”

“Why? Why did you even take the deal in the first place?” Percy yells, eyes full of hurt. 

I take a step closer to him, waving my arms around as I speak. “Because I can’t have you wasting your life in a prison!”

Percy’s eyes widen. “This is  _ not  _ about me, Monty!”

I shove my finger in his face. “Yes it fucking is! I  _ can’t  _ lose you again!” I yell back.

Percy runs a hand through his curls. “ _ Why do you care about me? _ ” he snaps, right in my face.

Before I can think, or tell myself it’s a  _ terrible  _ idea, I shout out, “ _ Because I’m in love with you! _ ”

And then there’s silence. Percy searches my eyes for a split second and I shut them immediately. Right before I open my eyes back up, I feel Percy’s hot hands on the back of my neck as he slams his lips into mine.

I make a sound of surprise, not thinking to kiss back. Is this even happening? Is he just doing this to shut me up or something? No, this isn’t a shut up kiss, I can tell. He’s kissing me like he’s dying. My arms hang limply by my sides as he pulls back. His face is pale as a ghost, eyes wide with fear. Without another thought, I take his face in my hands just as I did earlier today and I surge back in. 

This time around, I waste no time debating whether or not to kiss back. Percy’s arms wrap around my waist as we continue to kiss like it’s the end of the world. I press my body against him, not wanting to be apart ever again. I shove my hands into his curls as the kiss burns on, melting my legs into jelly.

Percy pulls away suddenly, holding me an arm’s length away. “Monty, be straight with me. Is that really why you took the deal? Why didn’t you just tell me who you were when we first met?” he asks, still stern, but softer than before.

I roll my eyes without malice. “Percy. If you had known my title, I would’ve stopped being human. I would be ‘Henri Montague’s son’. The enemy. You wouldn’t have even given me the time of day.”

Percy softens. “You don’t know that-“

I make a quiet shushing sound. “No, I do. It’s happened before. I meet someone real nice, someone I think I could  _ be  _ something around, and then they find out. And they leave. They leave, and they leave, and they leave. And it’s not just because I wanted to get to know you, though that was a big part of it.” 

Percy shakes his head with fond amusement, and I continue, “I want to keep helping with the strike, too. The morning my father told me he was raising the prices, I was so angry. He really doesn’t care about any of you. If he knew you the way I do,” I take another step closer to him, “maybe he would. But he doesn’t, and he wouldn’t ever make the effort. So I want to help you. No matter if it gets me disowned, or anything of the sort, I don’t care about that. I care about  _ you _ .”

Percy also takes a step forward. He sets his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “The letter I sent. I didn’t lie in it. I trust you. I did then, and I do now. God, Monty, when I first found out about your father, I was so upset. Because how could this wonderful, kind,  _ beautiful _ , person I’ve fallen for be the son of someone so cruel?” 

Okay, at least I know that there’s absolutely no way I’ve read this wrong. He just told me he fell for me. Oh my god, now I just want to kiss him. Kiss him until sunrise, then sunset, then sunrise again. “But I think that even if you’re his son, he doesn’t  _ own  _ you, or who you are. I trust that you really do want to help. Monty, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if I could.”

With that, I push back up onto the tips of my toes to press our lips together again. The kiss is easily the best one I’ve ever shared in my life. I’ve kissed a lot of people. A lot of people have kissed me. But this, right now, is the only time I’ve  _ shared _ a kiss with someone. The way Percy and I are both in it for keeps, being sweet and moving fast at the same time. It all turns so messy so quick, both of us not knowing what to do with our hands while wanting to touch each other everywhere at once. 

We both break away from each other to gasp for air. The rally is still going on downstairs, but I think we are safe from any unexpected visitors up here. The sight of Percy’s disheveled hair and red lips is enough for me to block out anything that isn’t  _ him _ . At last, Percy whispers, “Do you really want something? With me? Because, damn, I’m in if you are.”

I smile sweetly, stroking his cheek with my thumb. “Oh, Perce. I’ve been obsessed with you since the second we met. Is that even a question?”

Percy grins one last time before diving back in to reconnect our lips.

  
  
  


What feels like hours later, we lay on Percy’s bed, bathed in moonlight. Somehow, we managed to keep every piece of clothing on. How? Beats me, it really does. It’s kind of nice, though, knowing for sure that he’s not just in this for a quick hookup. 

My cheek rests on his chest while he rubs my back gently with the hand not resting under his head. The rally must have ended by now, because all the noise from before has quieted. It leaves just the sound of the city outside Percy’s window and the sound of us breathing together.

I leisurely draw constellations into the freckles on his neck. Every so often, he’ll lean down to brush my hair back and press a kiss to my forehead. I’m not completely convinced I’m not dreaming. Even the looming threat of my disownment can’t make this very moment any less perfect. 

Once again, nothing  _ happened _ earlier. We were too wrapped up in the euphoria of requited love to take anything that far. We just kissed and kissed for what felt like years, until we tired ourselves out and ended up here. I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Percy interrupts the silence by clearing his throat. “I love you too,” he says, softer than a mother lulling a child to sleep. 

“Where did that come from?” I ask, tracing a line down his jaw with my fingertip.

Percy takes my hand and kisses it. “I didn’t say it before, so I’m doing it now.”

I hum, closing my eyes and listening to his heartbeat. All is quiet again, until I whisper, “Was it bad in there?”

“It was…” he trails off, “It definitely wasn’t home, that’s for sure.”

I sit up to cup his cheek and look into his eyes. He’s so pretty that it makes me wonder how I could have possibly gotten this lucky. “I’m sorry.”

He places a hand on my wrist. “For what, honey?”

I bite my lip. “That you were in there in the first place. I- I tried running after you, but they held me back and-“

He cuts me off with a gentle shushing noise. I stop babbling and frown. “Hey, don’t do that. I’m glad they didn’t let you try to help me. They would’ve just taken you too, and I never want you to be hurt like that. As long as I’m around,” he takes my hand away from his face by my wrist and kisses the top of it, “you won’t have to. Swear it.”

I lean down on my elbows against the pillow on each side of his head, and leave a lingering kiss on his lips. “Okay,” I mumble, entranced by his eyes and the way the moonlight shines on his skin. 

He takes my face and pulls me back down. When we break apart, he presses our foreheads together. “Okay,” he repeats. Percy brushes my hair out of my eyes, leaving a hand on my jaw. 

I lower myself down to kiss him again. Then again, and again, and again, until pulling apart has no use anymore. I just want to be as close to him as possible. I think the thing that elevates that feeling even more is that I know he wants the same. In this cramped apartment, with only my love and the light of the moon as my witnesses, I am happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well ain’t that sweet


End file.
